Elfling Interludes
by Elf Eye
Summary: Occasional episodes in The Nameless One series. Legolas, as Anomen, is being fostered by Elrond, and he and the twins get into mischief.
1. Chapter 1

**This is going to be an occasional series of lighthearted interludes in which elflings will be elflings, i.e., cute and endearing. Angsty elfling stories will be posted elsewhere.**

**All the stories should be considered part of The Nameless One series because in them Legolas, as Anomen, will be fostered in Elrond's household in Rivendell. **

**This first one doesn't have much of a plot. In fact, I don't think any of them will have much of a plot. They will be just brief episodes in which elflings get into minor mischief. (I guess it does take angst to make a plot.)**

**Beta reader: No. Not important enough to bother my beta reader. If anyone notices any errors, just let me know.**

**Episode 1: Unbearable Sweetness **

Anomen's limbs were beginning to cramp, but he didn't dare move. Above him, knives gently clinked on plates, and voices laughed. The feast had been going on for hours, and likely would go on for several more, but Anomen wasn't going to give up now. He would remain in his hiding place under the table until he learned what he wanted to know. If he gave up now, not only would he be in trouble, but he would face Elrohir's scorn. He had been foolish to accept Elrohir's dare, but since he had, he wouldn't go back on his boast that he would discover Mithrandir's intentions.

A new voice joined the conversation above his head. It was Figwit. "My Lord Elrond," the messenger reported, "No one has seen Anomen for hours. It grows dark, and the young one's minder thought you would like to know."

"Thank you, Figwit. You may reply that Anomen's safety shall be seen to."

"Yes, my Lord."

A moment later the table's cloth was raised. "You may come out now, Anomen," Elrond said evenly. Shamefaced, Anomen crawled out, but when he tried to stand, he winced and grabbed at his legs. Gently, Elrond lifted him up and carried him from the room into a nearby chamber and placed him upon a chair. The Master of Rivendell knelt on the floor before the elfling and massaged his legs until the circulation was restored. Then the elf-lord sat upon another chair. "Well, Anomen," he said gently, "You were in a very uncomfortable position for a very long time. Will you tell me why you were hiding beneath the table?"

Anomen decided not to mention Elrohir's dare, for that would be tattle-taling—or 'orcing' as it was known in those days. However, even though he would not tell the whole truth, he would not lie, either. "I wanted to know how long Mithrandir would stay and where he would travel to next."

"Curiosity is commendable," Elrond said, "but is it necessary to spy to satisfy one's curiosity?"

Anomen blushed. He had not thought himself to be spying. He tried to defend himself. "Our scouts spy," he argued.

"True. But upon whom do our scouts spy?"

"Our enemies," Anomen conceded.

"And is Mithrandir an enemy?"

"No," Anomen said softly, studying his knees, which had suddenly become an amazingly interesting portion of his anatomy. Suddenly it occurred to him that he ought to make use of them. He slipped from the chair and knelt before Elrond. "Ada, I _am_ sorry. I won't ever again hide under the table to spy on Mithrandir."

Elrond noticed that Anomen's promise had been very specific—he would never again hide under the table to spy upon Mithrandir. That left a great many opportunities for spying. He accepted Anomen's promise nonetheless, knowing that it was too much to expect that the elfling would cease haunting the steps of his beloved wizard. He stroked the elfling's hair and smiled. "I am sure you will keep that promise, Anomen. You should also consider whether it is wise to allow Elrohir to provoke you by daring you. It invariably results in your getting into trouble."

"I didn't tell you that Elrohir dared me," exclaimed Anomen. "You must tell Elrohir that I didn't orc on him!"

"I did not say that you did, but thank you for confirming what I had guessed."

Anomen uttered not a word, but his face said it all. His blush reached to the very tips of his pointed ears. "You had better stand up," Elrond suggested, "else your legs will be as sore as formerly." The elf-lord arose and extended his hand to the elfling, pulling him to his feet. "Now, as you have been under a table, you have missed the meal served to your brothers upon a table. Betake yourself to the kitchen. Tell the Cook that I have sent you to get somewhat to eat. Then to your room and to bed. No climbing down the trellis for any nighttime excursions. I hope you heard the Lord Glorfindel mention that the contents of the armory need a good dusting. I can think of someone I might assign to that task."

Anomen had no desire to spend several days polishing armor, so he retreated toward the door. He was still a curious elfling, however, so he paused at the door and looked back at Elrond. "Ada, how did you know that I was under the table?"

"When the Lord Glorfindel stretched out his legs, I heard a soft cry and understood that his boot had connected with some creature. It was not hard to guess the identity of the creature. Figwit merely confirmed my guess."

"And Elrohir's dare?"

"Why should today be any different from any other day, Anomen?"

"Oh."

"You say little but express much, Anomen. Commendable eloquence in one so young," smiled Elrond. "Now be off with you, lest you find the kitchen empty."

'Of course', reflected Elrond after the elfling has disappeared from the door, 'if Anomen found the kitchen empty, that would be no obstacle to his satisfying his hunger. He has raided the kitchen often enough to know where everything is stored, including some of those delicacies that the Cook tries to hide in order to thwart the depredations of elflings'.

Just then he heard a knock upon the door frame, and Gandalf poked his head into the room.

"Ah, Mithrandir, you have tired of feasting?"

"No, but I wondered if you had."

"I have not, and I shall return with you to the Dining Hall."

The two fell into step. "What was the lad up to this time?" Gandalf asked.

"Spying on you."

"On me? What did he want to know?"

"How long you will stay and where you will go next."

"Didn't it occur to him that he could ask?"

"You must confess that you can be off-putting at times, Mithrandir, so that he might hesitate to ask you directly. In any event, a forthright approach is not nearly as interesting as stealing into the midst of a company and ferreting out secrets. Truly, Mithrandir, where is the glory in _asking_?"

Gandalf chuckled. "Elrond, you possess remarkable insight into the elfling mind."

"I think not," Elrond said dryly. "I have been raising elflings for centuries. I would be remarkably obtuse had I not by now acquired a reasonable understanding of their thought processes."

By now Anomen was seated at a trestle table in the kitchen, with an apple in one hand and a piece of cheese in the other. The Cook was bustling about and grumbling as he pulled a dish out of the pie safe. It must be said, however, that this supposedly irritable personage cut a very large slice for the lad, and moreover decorated it with an extremely generous dollop of cream. For good measure, the Cook relit the fire and warmed some cider, and when he plunked the mug upon the table, Anomen opened his eyes wide at the sight of the cinnamon stick poking above the brim.

"Master Cook," he said shyly, "you are very good to me."

"Nonsense," harrumphed the older Elf. "I am a cook, and it is a cook's charge to feed folk properly, regardless of circumstances. Why, if an Orc were to walk hungry through that door, I would make sure his meat were done to a turn. Of course," the Cook added thoughtfully, "I reckon that wouldn't take much trouble on my account, as I hear tell that Orcs prefer their meat raw."

Anomen shuddered, and the Cook apologized at once. "I _am_ sorry, my lad. That wasn't a pleasant thing to say in the hearing of a young one. I hope I haven't put you off your feed."

Anomen assured him that his appetite was unimpaired, and he proceeded to demonstrate the truth of that claim by polishing off apple, cheese, and pie and draining the mug of cider. "Well," exclaimed the Cook, "I hope you will not have the stomach ache from eating all that food! Here, you had better take some peppermint drops just to be sure. They will settle the sourest stomach."

Anomen was tempted to ask the Cook whether he would give an Orc peppermint drops, but decided he had better not. Politely, he accepted the handful of drops and ran off to climb the steps to the bedchamber he shared with Elrohir and Elladan. The two sat up eagerly when Anomen burst through the door.

"Have you any news?" demanded Elrohir.

"I have got something better," Anomen replied, opening his fist and showing them the peppermint drops.

"You have been in the kitchen," exclaimed Elladan, impressed. "You have been in the kitchen and managed to get your hands on such sweets as the Cook keeps well secured."

"Yes," said Anomen grandly. "From my expedition I return bearing a great prize." He thought it unnecessary to tell the twins that the Cook had _given_ him the sweets. As Elladan and Elrohir were not on speaking terms with the Cook, it was unlikely that the subject would ever come up in their presence.

Anomen carefully doled out the peppermint drops so that each had an equal share. As Elrohir sucked one of his, he mumbled that he held the dare satisfied.

"It—mm—would be a great—mmmm—accomplishment to wheedle news out of mmm—Mithrandir, but it is an—mmm—even greater deed to—mmm—come away from the kitchen with—mm—such winnings."

"That is very kind of you to say," Anomen answered, modest now, and Elrohir was flummoxed. After all, if _he_ had come away from the kitchen with a handful of peppermints, he would have not left off bragging for a very long time. Indeed, he knew that he might have hoarded the candy—sharing it only with his twin—save that hiding the sweets would have deprived him of the opportunity to boast. Elrohir felt a little guilty, for Anomen was generous, and he was not. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a curious stone that he had plucked from the bank of the Bruinen on a recent excursion. It was white and pinkish, looking rather like a peppermint drop. He held it out to Anomen. "Here is something to remind you of this day, Anomen."

"Le hannon, Elrohir," said Anomen, surprised. _Thank you, Elrohir._

"Oh, it is nothing," Elrohir said loftily. It was now his turn to be grand. His haughtiness, however, proved an irresistible target to Elladan. The younger twin picked up his pillow and whacked it over his brother's head. Forgetting the gracious manners that they had been at pains to affect, Elrohir and Anomen seized their own pillows. Within minutes, all three elflings had vanished in a cloud of feathers.

The next morning, three elflings trooped into the armory, for Elrond, upon being summoned to their room by an indignant housekeeper, had decreed that the elflings should be at Glorfindel's beck and call for the next fortnight. Apparently, however, the effect of the peppermints had not worn off, for the elflings were so sweet tempered that they smiled unceasingly, until at last Glorfindel could no longer bear their perkiness and ordered them to betake themselves to the practice field.

"I would have had them polish armor all day, but their excessive cheerfulness set my teeth on edge," he complained to Elrond and Gandalf that evening. "Whatever could have put them into such a good mood that they were proof against punishment?"

"When have they not been proof against punishment?" Gandalf asked lightly. "In any event, tomorrow I depart, so Anomen at least may be more attentive to his duties."

Elrond had his doubts, but he kept silent. In fact, though, for several days after Gandalf's departure, the elflings did stay out of mischief. What happened afterward, however, shall have to wait for another story.


	2. Chapter 2: Possession

**READ THIS PARAGRAPH!! (This is a new introduction that replaces the one originally published with this tale.)  
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**These Elfling Interludes are supposed to be lighthearted tales. The following story, however, is somewhat angsty because it evokes images of a violent episode in LOTR, associating it with elflings instead of the original characters. I was going to move the story into a spot created specifically for it, but because I have so many separate postings I now hesitate to do so. I think I would like to avoid creating additional story headings if it can be avoided. So I am just going to tell people that there is an angsty element to this tale, and folks not in the mood for angst can skip the story.  
**

**Also, originally this tale was a bit of an experiment. PurpleHat had suggested that it is a bit jarring to use the Greek/Latin name Anomen (a + nomen) in a universe in which Elves generally go by Sindarin names. Initially I replied to him/her that I thought I have been using the name Anomen too long to change it now. Then I began to wonder whether the switch might be doable. As Elrond's foster-son, Legolas's name must mean 'no name', of course, or The Nameless One series no longer makes any sense. 'No name' in Sindarin could be rendered Aleneth (al + eneth). So as an experiment, I used the name Aleneth instead of Anomen and asked readers to tell me what they thought. There seemed a fair amount of sentiment in favor of keeping Anomen, and I prefer it myself. So I have now gone back through the tale and replaced 'Aleneth' with 'Anomen'. What I do plan to do is return to original The Nameless One and add a few lines to the story to explain how Legolas knew to use the elements 'a' + 'nomen'. Also, I like the suggestion by Lady Ambreanna that I use 'Aleneth' as a sort of 'nickname', along the lines of Aragorn/Estel/Strider. So in the future, I am going to look for places to work 'Aleneth' in as one of the pseudonyms that Legolas relies upon.**

"What is it?" asked Elrohir, kneeling on the grass beside Elladan.

The two had been swimming near Rivendell when Elladan had suddenly ducked under the water and swum to the bottom of pond. When he resurfaced, he clutched something in his hand. He swam to the edge of the pond and climbed out and sat upon the grass at its edge. Then he opened his fist and studied whatever lay upon his palm. Curious, Elrohir drew near and tried to see what it was. "Why, it's nothing but a handful of mud," he exclaimed.

"No, it's not," retorted Elladan. "Look!" With his free hand the younger twin flicked away some of the dirt, and Elrohir saw the glint of gold. "Let me see," he demanded, reaching out his hand.

"You can see it upon my palm," said Elladan, reflexively making a fist.

"How can I see it if you have got your fingers curled about it?" demanded Elrohir

"I will open my hand, but you must promise not to grab it," warned Elladan.

"Don't you trust me?" Elrohir asked.

"No, I do not," Elladan replied matter-of-factly.

Elrohir tried to look indignant but couldn't really make a go of it. "Very well," he said. "I promise not to grab it."

Elladan opened his fist, and no sooner had he done so, than Elrohir reached for the shiny object that lay upon his palm. "You promised!" shouted Elladan, trying to draw back his hand.

"I said I wouldn't grab it, but I didn't say I wouldn't take it," said Elrohir, who had got his hand on Elladan's wrist. The two began to wrestle, and the shiny object fell into the grass as the two rolled about struggling with each other. Suddenly their combat was interrupted by the voice of their younger brother, Elrond's fosterling Anomen.

"You two had better leave off wrestling and tidy yourself, for it is almost time for the noon meal," he announced. "If you came here to bathe, your efforts have been wasted. You have mud on your limbs and grass in your hair."

The twins stopped wrestling at once. It would not do to present themselves in such a state at Elrond's table. They arose and turned toward the water. As they did so, Anomen noticed something shiny in the grass. "What is that?" he said, pointing. Instantly, Elladan spun about. "That's mine!" he cried.

"I didn't say it wasn't. I only asked what it was." Before Elladan could stop him, Anomen bent down and picked up the object, holding it up so that it was plain to see.

"A ring," Elrohir and Anomen said simultaneously.

"_My_ ring," Elladan said emphatically.

Anomen stared at him, for he spoke in a tone Anomen was more accustomed to hearing from Elrohir.

"If it is your ring, then you have nothing to fear from me. _I_ do not covet such a bauble."

Elladan felt ashamed. It was true that Anomen was careful of his appearance, but this was only because the younger Elf liked to be clean and neat. Never had Anomen shown any interest in adornment for its own sake. Nor was he greedy, collecting objects merely because he desired to possess them.

Anomen proffered the ring to Elladan, but Elladan shook his head. "You hold it for me while I rinse off."

"You are not afraid that I will not return it?" Anomen said lightly, covering the fact that he was a little hurt over how brusquely Elladan had addressed him a moment earlier.

"No," said Elladan. "A ring would have no hold over you. Even should you find one compounded of diamond and mithril, you would seek out its owner and return it."

Elladan spoke with a solemnity beyond his years, and both Elrohir and Anomen were impressed. "Anomen, I have got a piece of quartz in my pouch," Elrohir said. "Will you hold it for me while _I_ swim?"

"Of course," replied Anomen, "although I do not think anyone hereabouts would covet a bit of quartz."

"Just the same, you hold it for me," insisted Elrohir. He did not know why, but suddenly he wanted to show his brothers that he was no hoarder.

Anomen sat crosslegged upon the grass, humming and holding the quartz in one hand and the ring in the other. After a little while, he began to juggle the two objects, and then, to make the game more challenging, he added a pine cone. From the pond, Elladan and Elrohir began to laugh at Anomen's antics. By the time the twins climbed out of the water, all three elflings were happy and all unpleasantness forgotten.

When they returned to Rivendell, they went straight to the Dining Hall, arriving just in time to avoid a baleful glance from Erestor and a gentle but firm reprimand from their father. They attacked their food with the appetite one would expect of elflings who had spent the morning out of doors, which _did_ earn them a baleful glance from Erestor. When they were finished, Elladan said, "Adar, may I speak."

"You may, my son. You have something you wish to ask me?"

"I mean to all assembled, Adar."

Elrond was surprised, and his eyebrows showed it, but he gave his permission. He raised his hand to quiet the assembly. Elladan arose and took the ring out of his pouch. He held it up for all to see.

"I found a gold ring in the bathing pond past the oak whose branch was struck by lighting two summers ago. If anyone lost a ring at that place, I should like to return it."

He sat down. Glorfindel spoke. "I lost a ring swimming in that pond only three days ago. If it is that ring, you will see a 'G' engraved inside the band. May I see it?"

Elladan held out the ring. "Ah, look," exclaimed Glorfindel. "It is the same."

The elflings crowded around. Yes, there was the tiny 'G'. Between juggling the ring and tussling over it, none of the elflings had noticed.

"Elladan, thank you for returning the ring," Glorfindel said, smiling at the elfling. "There are some who might have been tempted to keep it because of its beauty and value."

Elladan blushed a little because he _had_ been tempted to keep it—that is, until Anomen's actions and words had driven such ungenerous thoughts from his mind. Now he was eager that his generosity not be tainted by deceit. "I did think about keeping it," he confessed, "but I changed my mind because Anomen did not desire to possess it. He seemed so—untouched—by it, and somehow his way seemed best. I do not know why it seemed so. Perhaps—perhaps I should have been uneasy in my mind if I had kept something that did not belong to me."

"The knowledge that one has not done right can trouble the mind," agreed Elrond. "Gold is heavy, but guilt is heavier."

Gandalf had been an interested observer of this entire exchange, and now he murmured something. "A gold ring may be a heavy burden to bear."

"What is that you say, Mithrandir?" asked Erestor.

"Indeed, Elrond is right. Gold is heavy, guilt is heavier, and the guilt of gold heavier still. I am glad that Anomen did not desire this ring, and I am glad that Elladan followed his example. Neither desired to possess this ring; therefore, neither was possessed by it."

"Mithrandir," protested Glorfindel, "you and Elrond are becoming altogether too sententious. I lost a ring, Elladan found it, and Elladan returned it. There's an end of it."

Gandalf dropped the matter. Over the next centuries, however, he was on occasion heard to say, "If you desire not to be possessed, desire not to possess." When he was asked to explain himself, he would always mutter, "Ring. Pond." Folk would always assume he was thinking of the time when Elladan returned a ring to Glorfindel. Whatever else he may have been thinking, Gandalf, being Gandalf, kept close to his chest.


	3. Chapter 3: Being Fair

**The idea for this story came from CAH, who gives birth to plot bunnies faster than Increase Rabbit of the children's tale. **

**I haven't yet replied to all the reviewers who were logged in. I will certainly do so this weekend, but I want to at least acknowledge all my reviewers here, whether they were logged in or not. Thanks to the following: **_**CAH, deLurker, Dragonsofliberty, Elfinabottle, Ilada'Jefiv, Joee1, just a fan, Katie, Lady Ambreanna, leralonde, Ne'ith5, PurpleHat, RumorUnderOath, Telcontar Rulz, Tinnuial, and vectis**_**. My apologies if I left out anyone. Please let me know if I have, and I will correct the error.**

**Episode 3: Being Fair**

Elladan, Elrohir, and Anomen were trying to look solemn, but the Lothlóríen brothers, who were standing safely behind Elrond, where they couldn't be seen by the adults, were doing their best to provoke them into misbehaving. Rúmil had crossed his eyes, Orophin had stuck out his tongue, and Haldir—well, Haldir being Haldir, he was behaving oh-so-correctly. However, the haughty expression of a well-behaved Haldir drew as much laughter from the Rivendell elflings as the antics of his more obstreperous brothers. Elladan giggled. One of Elrond's eyebrows shot up. Elrohir snorted. There went Elrond's other eyebrow. Anomen suddenly bent over coughing. This gave Elrond an opportunity to bring the charade to an end. "Elrohir, Elladan," he ordered, "take Anomen to the kitchen and tell the Cook that a serving of hot cider may be needful to settle his cough."

Elladan seized one of Anomen's arms and Elrohir the other, and the trio fled from the chamber where the Lothlórien delegation was being welcomed. Once outside, they whooped and pranced all the way to the Kitchen. The Cook heard them coming and met them at the door, ladle in hand.

"Well?" he said darkly.

"Adar says Anomen is to have hot cider to settle his cough," Elrohir said nervously. Now that they were standing before the Cook, their spirits were considerably more subdued. Only two days ago they had lessened a table's burden by removing several pies from it. The Cook knew they were the culprits. He couldn't _prove_ they had taken the pies, but as he towered above them, it occurred to the elflings that he might exact a penalty nonetheless. Meekly, they crept by him into the kitchen and perched upon the stools he pointed them toward. Silently they sat as he banged pots and rattled kettles. To their surprise, however, after a little while he plunked three steaming mugs on the table before them. "I'll not waste wood," he grumbled. "I'll not build up a fire in order to heat naught but one mug's worth of cider. You two," he said, pointing at Elladan and Elrohir, "you must take your medicine as well. No use protesting," he warned as they opened their eyes wide.

Elladan and Elrohir tried to look sorrowful as they sipped their cider, but it was as hard as trying to keep a straight face in the presence of the Lothlórien brothers. Fortunately, after a bit the Cook busied himself about the kitchen, his back to them, and the elflings were able to grin at each other over the tops of their mugs. By and by, he returned to the table bearing a plate of biscuits. "It is time to clear out the stale food," he announced, "and you shall make yourselves useful by disposing of these. You needn't go running to the Lord Elrond to complain of the task, for he will only say it is just that you be required to do a little labor from time to time. Now go!"

With Anomen carefully carrying the platter, the elflings trooped from the kitchen and made for the garden. "We should share these with Haldir and his brothers," Elladan suggested once they were safely ensconced in an arbor. There were enough biscuits that not even Elrohir grudged sharing them, and Anomen returned to the Hall to find their Lórien visitors. He discovered them in the Hall of Fire, and all of them, even Haldir, broke into grins when they spied Anomen entering the room. Sitting quietly in the chamber listening to tales of bygone days was not how they wished to spend their time in Rivendell. They begged that Celeborn give them leave to accompany Anomen to the garden, and Galadriel's spouse gladly gave permission, for the elflings were growing wrigglier with each passing moment.

"I do not know why Galadriel insisted that I bring them," he observed to Elrond once the elflings had scurried from the room. Sitting nearby, Gandalf smiled knowingly. "Perhaps," he suggested, "she preferred to have them wriggling in Rivendell than loitering in Lórien."

"I suppose," said Elrond dryly, "I should feel honored that Galadriel feels Imladris capable of containing the exuberance of Haldir and his brothers."

"Rúmil and Orophin's exuberance, anyway," Glorfindel amended, "for I have never yet heard Haldir called 'exuberant'."

"Exuberant or no," said Gandalf, "Haldir will make his mark on Middle-earth—and will be marked by it in return." The wizard arose and nodded at the company. "Goodnight, my friends. I have an errand will take me to the Shire and must turn in so that I may depart early tomorrow." Glasses were raised in salute, and then the Istar strode from the room.

While this conversation had been taking place in the Hall of Fire, the Rivendell and Lórien elflings had been doing their duty by the 'stale' biscuits. Elrohir picked the last crumb off the platter and then sighed, throwing himself backward upon the greensward and resting his head upon his linked hands.

"Those biscuits were delicious. I think the Cook made a mistake and gave us the fresh ones rather than the stale. Imagine his face when he discovers his error!"

No elfling was going to admit an alternative explanation: that the Cook had deliberately given them a platter of fresh biscuits. Such an admission would threaten a carefully choreographed dance that gave pleasure to Cook and elfling alike, each taking delight in both his and his opponent's attempts at outmaneuvering the other.

"Now we have eaten," Elladan said to the Lórien brothers, "you must tell us of your journey. Did you encounter any Goblins?"

Regretfully, Rúmil and Orophin shook their heads. "No Goblins," Rúmil said sadly.

"Trolls?" Elrohir said hopefully.

"No Trolls, neither," Rúmil replied.

"Well, brigands then?" asked Anomen.

Orophin shook his head. "The Lord Celeborn took us by a route that afforded us very little in the way of excitement," he said a trifle resentfully.

"_I_ thought the Lord Celeborn showed great wisdom in the choosing of our route," Haldir announced loftily. The Rivendell elflings rolled their eyes and elevated their eyebrows at one and the same time. Impressed, Rúmil and Orophin tried to follow suit, but they had not had the benefit of Elrond's example and so had to settle for rolling their eyes only. Haldir was not discomfited in the least by the expressions on the faces of either his brothers or his hosts. "Someday," he lectured, "you will understand the wisdom of your elders, as I do." More eye-rolling and eyebrow elevating, and then the Rivendell elflings resumed questioning their guests.

"Surely," Elrohir exclaimed, "you are not going to tell us that you encountered nothing worth telling."

"We did visit a settlement of Men," Orophin answered. The Rivendell elflings sat erect and interested. From time to time Men came from Breeland to trade with the Elves, and Rangers visited Rivendell regularly. Still, only Anomen had seen a human settlement, and that only briefly and under such circumstances as allowed him to learn little of Men other than the fact that they could be dangerous.

"What did you see?" Elladan asked eagerly.

"We were very lucky," Rúmil said. "The humans were holding a festival—something to do with the spring planting, I believe. Every cottage was garlanded, and the maidens were crowned with chaplets of flowers. A tall pole decked with ribbons stood in the center of the village green, and children danced about it weaving the ribbons in and out until the pole was wrapped round with colors. Men with small bells fastened at their wrists and ankles danced holding staves that they would clack together."

"There was good food to eat, too," Haldir chimed in, forgetting that it was not dignified to be excited over a village fair. "No fruits of course because it is too early, but all sorts of breads and pastries."

"And sweet butter and clotted cream and hard cheeses of every description," said Rúmil.

"And mead," cried Haldir. "Beer and wine, also. Of course," he added, "we did not drink any of the beer."

"Nor the wine, neither," Orophin reminded him. "But Lord Celeborn allowed us a little of the mead. It is much sweeter than wine."

"There were also many birds well dressed," said Haldir. "Pheasant and geese and duck and partridge."

"Their hunters must have been very busy," Rúmil observed. "Everywhere you looked, venison was turning on the spit."

"I liked the games even better than the food," declared Haldir, who had completely forgotten himself by now. "Three-legged races—those were grand. Rúmil and I tied our legs together at the ankle so that between the two of us we had three legs. It was great fun trying to run without tripping. We won several heats, and I think we would have won the final race, but Lord Celeborn told us to allow the humans to win. I didn't mind, though. It was so much fun that nothing else mattered."

"What other games did you play?" asked Elrohir, who was becoming quite excited over this description of a festival in a village of Men.

"A game called bowling," said Rúmil. "Ten wooden blocks, taller than wide, were set close together on the green, and Men rolled balls toward them, trying to knock over as many as possible."

"There were lots of throwing games, too," Haldir added. "On one side of the green, Men set up a piece of wood with the face of a Troll painted upon it. Holes were cut in it for the eyes, nostrils, and mouth, and folk tried to toss balls through the holes."

"I aimed for the Troll's nostrils," giggled Orophin. His brothers and friends laughed so hard they snorted and fell over upon the grass, rolling and kicking. (It is a good thing Erestor was not near to see them or they would have been subjected to a lecture on elven deportment so long that even Haldir would have been bored.)

"You said there were other throwing games," Elladan

"At another place you could try to knock over bottles set upon a table," explained Orophin. Upon a row of four bottles were balanced three more; upon those three, two; upon that two, one."

Rúmil chimed in. "Rather like the way the bowling pegs were arranged. They were called 'pins'. Foremost was one pin, then came two, followed by three, and then a row of four."

Thoughtfully, Anomen picked up twigs and began to stick them in the earth, arranging them according to the pattern Rúmil had just described. Meanwhile, the Lórien brothers continued to describe the fair.

"We saw wrestling matches—"

"And archery contests—"

"And footraces—"

"Horse races!"

"Horse shoe tossing!"

"Ring tossing!"

"Pig wrangling!"

At this last, the Rivendell elflings cried out in disbelief.

"Pig wrangling," exclaimed Anomen. "Why ever would Men wrangle pigs!?"

"It was very funny to watch," Orophin said cheerfully. "The pig had been greased and was ever so hard for the Men to hold on to. The enclosure had been wetted down so that it was very muddy. Before too long, it was very hard to tell the Men from the pig!"

Anomen shuddered. Rolling in mud with a pig! "That sounds disgusting," he said, his face looking as if he had just tasted something sour.

"Not half as disgusting as the drinking games," Rúmil said happily.

"Drinking games?" queried Elrohir with renewed interest.

"Yes," explained Orophin. "Men matched cups. Each man drank a mug of beer and placed the empty vessel on the table before him. Then he drank another and another and placed each empty mug on the table with its fellows. The pile of mugs before each Man grew and grew. By and by, though, the number of drinkers began to fall off."

Rúmil sniggered. "Fall off indeed!" he laughed. "They fell off their stools!"

"And some of them," began Haldir, "some of them, well, some of them did not hold their beer very well." He turned a little pale and rubbed at his own stomach.

Rúmil sniggered again. "So may we call a drinking game a 'tossing game'," he chortled.

Anomen again looked as if he had tasted something sour. Elrohir, however, announced that he would challenge Anomen and Elladan to a drinking game as soon as they were allowed to drink unwatered wine. "And if you are here," he said to the Lórien brothers, "you must compete as well." Haldir appeared decidedly unhappy at the prospect, and of only Rúmil and Elrohir looked entirely pleased. Anomen decided it might behoove them to talk of something else.

"Haldir said there were lots of throwing games," he observed, "but you have only described two. What were the others?"

Rúmil answered at once. "The ducking stool was the best of them," he shouted, all thoughts of drinking games forgotten.

"Ducking stool?" said Elladan. "What is a ducking stool?"

"A stool you sit upon that ducks you into the water," answered Orophin.

"How can a stool duck a person into water?" asked Anomen. "And what does such a stool have to do with games that require one to throw balls?"

"The stool is attached to an arm that is suspended over water," explained Rúmil. "The arm is supported in such a fashion that it will drop into the water if a trigger is tripped, and the trigger is a target that must be hit just right by a ball. Each boy of the village took turns sitting upon the ducking stool, and his fellows threw at the target until he was thrown into the water."

The notion of a ducking stool fascinated Elrohir as much the drinking game did, but he said nothing, and the Lórien brothers continued to describe the fair—the stalls, the music, the prizes—until the moon set and the elflings arose to rejoin their elders. As Anomen stood up, he looked down at his 'bowling pins'. "Do you suppose," he said hopefully, "that Ada would countenance a fair?"

"We ought to say that we want to put on an entertainment for our guests," Elrohir exclaimed.

"Yes!"

"Horse races!"

"Foot races!"

"Bowling!"

"Three-legged races!"

Excitedly, the six elflings were now themselves racing, and they only caught themselves just in time to avoid the mistake of making a riotous entrance into the Hall of Fire. Still, their excitement was unmistakable, and both Celeborn and Elrond felt their hearts sink as they looked upon the elflings' flushed faces and observed their barely-contained energy. "Galadriel knew this would happen," Celeborn muttered. "I am sure of it. She would have seen it in her mirror."

"_I _knew it would happen without looking into any mirror," Elrond retorted moodily.

By now, all six elflings were standing before Elrond. Elrohir spoke for them

"Ada, our guests from Lothlórien tell us that they were very well entertained at a village of Men."

Elrond glanced at Celeborn, who nodded.

"Aye, as we neared the Gap of Rohan, we camped near a village of Rohirrim who were celebrating the spring planting. They invited us to join in their festivities."

Assuming a solemn air, Elrohir again addressed his father. "My Lord and Father, we can hardly do less than Men in entertaining our guests."

Elrond suppressed a wry smile. His eldest son did well at counterfeiting the manner of a counselor. "There is truth in what you say, my son. What is it that you would propose by way of entertainment?"

The other elflings burst into speech.

"A fair!"

"Horse races!"

"Foot races!"

"Three-legged races!"

Elrond raised his hand, and the elflings fell silent.

"Very well. If you wish to organize a festival, I give you leave. No doubt you shall wish the Cook to bake extra pies and loaves."

"Yes, Ada," answered Elrohir.

"I will speak to him."

"Thank you," chorused the elflings.

"Now to bed with you," said Elrond, raising his hand in a gesture of benediction. The elflings bowed. Turning, they tried to troop out in an orderly fashion, but by the time they reached the door they were jostling one another and giggling.

"You are going to be sorry that you granted permission for this fair," Celeborn said gloomily.

Elrond shrugged. "I should have ordered an entertainment in any event. At least this way, the young ones shall bear some of the responsibility."

Over the next several days, the elflings inveigled the Carpenters into carving pins and bowling balls. The Carpenters also agreed to cut holes in a board, upon which the elflings then painted a fearsome Troll. The Leather-workers they wheedled into stitching casings for balls, which they stuffed with scraps of cloth begged from the Seamstress. They also persuaded the Horse-master to help them lay out a course for racing, and they persuaded the Rope-maker to give them odd bits of cord that they cut into lengths suitable for tying ankles together for three-legged races. Before too long, all the Elves in Imladris were cheerfully involved in the elflings' scheme.

"I must confess," Celeborn said to Elrond, "that this festival may turn out to be a good thing after all. The elflings are keeping themselves occupied, and everyone seems to be looking forward to it."

Celeborn would have not been so sanguine, however, had he overheard the conversation between Elrohir and the Smith. "Master Smith," Elrohir was saying, "could you devise a mechanism that would hold a pole parallel to the ground until released by a blow to a board?" The Smith examined the piece of parchment upon which Elrohir had sketched the device and then nodded his head. "Aye, I could do that, young Master Elrohir."

Two days later, a stout pole was extended above a little-used bathing pool. At one end of the pole was fastened a horizontal board that served as a seat, and at the other a vertical board that served as a target. All that remained, gloated Elrohir, was to test the mechanism. He couldn't ask the other elflings to help him, for he had fashioned the dunking stool in secret after each and every elfling—even Rúmil!—had advised him against making the device. Nor had the Smith known the use to which Elrohir planned to put the metal fittings he had created at the elfling's request.

"Three games our Ada will not approve," Elladan had warned. "He will not allow pig wrangling, drinking contests, or dunking stools."

Elrohir could understand why his father would disapprove both of the dirtiness that clung to pig wrangling and of the drunkenness that accompanied drinking games. He did not see why his father would object to the dunking stool, however. 'After all', he said to himself, 'what harm can there be in something that merely tumbles people into the water?'

As he stood considering how he might test the dunking stool, he heard a gasp. Spinning about, he saw Anomen. "Elrohir," the younger elfling said reproachfully, "that is a dunking stool, isn't it? We all of us agreed that we would not fashion such a device."

"And _we_ didn't fashion such a device. _I_ did. However, now you are here, you may as well help me test it. Climb out upon it and sit on the end, and I shall try to hit the target."

"_You_ climb out upon, and _I_ shall try to hit the target," retorted Anomen.

"I am older," Elrohir argued, "and I can throw harder. I am more likely to trigger the mechanism. Besides, why are you here, if not to bathe?"

This latter was true. For spring, the day was unusually hot, and Anomen was warm from practicing his archery. His favorite bathing pools were crowded both with Imladris Elves and with visitors from Lothlórien, and he had sought out this more secluded one in which to cool off. Anomen considered, and then nodded. "Very well," he said grudgingly. He stepped upon the pole and balancing lightly began to pick his way toward the seat.

"You are going to bathe in your clothes?" called Elrohir.

"I should feel ridiculous sitting naked upon that contraption," Anomen shot back. '_More_ ridiculous, anyway', he thought to himself. He reached the seat and carefully settled himself upon it. Elrohir was holding a ball, and as soon as Anomen was in position, he threw it at the target. In his excitement, he aimed poorly and missed the target outright. He picked up another ball. Aiming a little more carefully, he hit the edge of the target a glancing blow that was not enough to trigger the mechanism. He picked up a third ball and aimed with great care. The ball hit the target squarely in the center, the pole pivoted, and Anomen was thrown in to the water. Elrohir whooped. He stood grinning, waiting for Anomen to surface.

There was a reason that this bathing pool was little frequented. Its water was brown with tannin from the leaves that fluttered into the pond from the oak trees that surrounded it. Moreover, the outflow from this pool was very sluggish, another reason why the water was not clear. Unable to see the bottom of the pool, and too excited to remember that he ought to check, Elrohir had set up his dunking stool over the spot where the water was shallowest. Thus, when Anomen was thrown into the water, he had hit the bottom, and now he lay dazed a few feet beneath the surface.

Elrohir was excited, but not so excited as to have lost his wits. When Anomen did not surface immediately, the older elfling thought momentarily that the younger one was playing a trick and holding his breath under the water. When a trail of bubbles arose to the surface and stopped, Elrohir knew he was wrong. He acted immediately. Jumping into the water, he submerged himself at the spot where Anomen had vanished and groped about the bottom. Within seconds, his hand touched Anomen's tunic. Grabbing a handful of cloth, he pulled Anomen to the surface and dragged him to the bank.

Fortunately, Anomen had swallowed only a little water, and as Elrohir hauled him out of the pool, he spluttered and opened his eyes. Elrohir burst into tears. "You are not dead," he gasped. "Are you hurt badly?"

Shakily, Anomen tried to sit up. Elrohir helped him, putting his arm around the younger elfling's shoulder. "I am a little dizzy," Anomen said, "and my head aches, but I am unharmed in the main, I think."

"Come. Let me help you back to the Hall. Ada should check you for injuries."

Elrohir knew he was going to be in trouble when Elrond learned how Anomen had come to be at the bottom of the pool. But not for a moment did he think of attempting to hide the matter by attending to Anomen himself. Carefully he helped Anomen to his feet. Since Anomen was too dizzy to walk swiftly, Elrohir insisted on taking him up on his back. "A pick-a-back ride," Anomen joked weakly. "Do you suppose we ought to have pick-a-back rides at our fair?"

Anomen was the smaller of the two elflings, but only by a little. From time to time Elrohir staggered under his weight. He marched forward doggedly, however, and succeeded in carrying Anomen almost all the way to the Hall. When they neared it, they were spied by the Door Warden, who hastily came forth and took Anomen into his arms.

Several hours later, Elrond went in to the elflings' chamber, where Elrohir and Elladan waited anxiously in company with Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin.

"Is he well, Ada?" Elrohir asked as soon as he saw his father.

"He has suffered a concussion and must rest for several days. A week, I think, should do."

The elflings exchanged glances.

"Can he ride, Ada?" Elladan asked.

"No"

"Bowl?"

"No."

"Run foot races?"

"No."

Again the elflings exchanged glances. The fair was to be in two days. That would be too soon for Anomen to participate. Postponing it would not solve the problem, for the Lothlórien Elves were to depart three days after the fair.

"Anomen will, of course, be able to watch," said Elrond, who knew what the elflings were thinking.

"That won't be much fun for Anomen," said Elrohir, "watching while everyone else plays. Of course," he added thoughtfully, "it wouldn't be quite as bad if someone were to keep him company. Ada, I shall keep him company."

"So you shall forgo the three-legged race that you have been talking about so eagerly?"

"Yes."

"And the archery contest that you boasted that you would win?"

"Yes."

"And you will wrangle no pigs and will thus forfeit an opportunity to be muddy without rebuke?"

The elflings stared at Elrond, their mouths agape.

"You don't plan to have pig wrangling?" said Elrond.

"Ada, you are joking!" exclaimed Elladan.

"Yes, I am. But back to the matter at hand. So, Elrohir, you will stay by Anomen's side the day of the fair, fetching him food and drink and bantering with him to keep up his spirits.

"Yes, Ada."

"Very well. It seems, then, that the preparations for this festival are complete. Now I must return to Anomen. He will stay in my chamber tonight so that I may watch over him." With that, Elrond left the chamber, and the elflings, exhausted by the wait for news of Anomen, were quickly asleep.

Two days later, on a perfect spring day, not too hot, not too cold, the environs of Rivendell were filled by Elves from every settlement within reach of Imladris. Celeborn and Elrond watched indulgently as all the games planned by the elflings came off successfully. (There may have also been, in certain secluded corners, drinking games not on the announced schedule, but the elf-lords remained conspicuously positioned upon a dais and so it was not possible that they should come to know of such unsanctioned events.)

Near Elrond and Celeborn, well-shaded by a cloth stretched between four poles, Anomen reclined upon cushions. By him sat Elrohir, and near at hand were glasses of cider and a tray piled high with pastries. The two laughed as they watched Elves trip through three-legged races and toss balls through the nostrils of the wooden Troll. From time to time Elladan, Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin came to sit briefly with Anomen before returning to the games. Elrohir, however, never left the side of his foster-brother. Oddly, he found that he did not regret spending the day with Anomen. He was not competing in any games and so was not intent on proving anything to anyone. Never had he felt so relaxed and contented.

Three days later, the Lothlórien Elves departed on their return journey. As they exchanged farewells, Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin promised that they would host a festival when the Rivendell Elves came to visit. Celeborn blanched, and Elrond smirked.

After the Lothlórien Elves had ridden away, Elrohir followed Elrond to his study. During the past five days, Elrond had said nothing of punishment. Elrohir had assumed that his father had avoided the subject because they were still entertaining their guests. Now that the Lórien Elves had departed, no doubt the matter would be addressed. Elrohir thought it would be better to get things over with at once so that the misery of anxious anticipation was not added atop the pain of punishment. Thus he now stood unbidden before his father. Elrond raised his eyebrows quizzically.

"Yes, my son?"

"Ada, will you please tell me my penalty straightaway."

"Your penalty?"

"I built a dunking stool when I knew you would not approve, and I was careless in situating it so that Anomen struck the bottom of the pool and was injured."

"True. Yet you have made restitution, as it were, because you kept Anomen company on the day of the fair and forfeited your chance to participate in the games. That is what I would have bidden you to do had you not volunteered."

Elrohir looked distressed. "But, Ada, I was not sad as I kept him company. In truth, I had a pleasant time of it. How could that have been a punishment?"

"I said restitution, not punishment. Punishment is not always necessary. Elrohir, I was pleased that you gave freely of yourself that day. Had you been grudging in your attentions to Anomen, in your unhappiness you would have been punished indeed, but I would much rather you show yourself generous."

"So I am not to be punished?"

"As I have said, punishment is not always necessary. But the matter is not quite at an end. It _is_ needful that you answer one question."

"Yes, Ada?"

"Why did you ask Anomen to sit upon the ducking stool rather than take that task upon yourself?"

"I didn't want to look silly," Elrohir answered promptly. Then he blushed when he realized the import of what he had said.

"I believe," said Elrond, "that you now understand why I do not approve of the ducking stool. Too often humiliation is inherent in such a game. Indeed, I hesitate to call it game at all."

Elrohir nodded gravely. "I do understand, Ada."

"I am pleased to hear it, Elrohir," said Elrond, smiling. "Go now. I have given Anomen permission to arise, and he has accompanied Elladan into the garden. I believe you will find them occupied in tossing balls through the nostrils of a Troll."

Never again was quite so raucous a fair held at Rivendell. However, even decades later, travelers through Imladris reported that the Elves in that realm amused themselves by tossing balls through holes cut in boards. There were no faces painted upon these boards, however. According to the most reliable accounts, it was Elrohir himself who eventually insisted that the Troll faces be replaced with geometric patterns. "The Trolls may be our enemies," he is quoted as saying, "but we must not make fun of them. Even Trolls have feelings, and to mock them shows us to be the ones lacking in sympathy." This may have been taking matters further than Elrond had intended, but if Elrohir committed any error, it was an admirable one.


	4. Chapter 4: Stalactites and Stalagmites

**In Chapter 43 of **_**Parallel Quest**_**, Elrohir asks Gimli to explain the difference between stalactites and stalagmites, saying that he had been unable to tell them apart when he had studied them with Erestor. **_**CAH**_** said she would enjoy a story involving that long-ago lesson, and this story resulted.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers:**_** Jasta Elf, leralonde, windwraith, Dragonsofliberty, Lady Ambreanna, Foxgurl0000, Elfinabottle, RumorUnderOath, vectis, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**Beta reader: None. I take my chances on the shorter stories and only inflict the longer ones on Dragonfly.**

**Episode 4: Stalactites and Stalagmites**

"No! no! no!" exclaimed Erestor. The tutor was past exasperated and well on his way to frantic. "The stalactite hangs _down_ from the ceiling of the cave, Elrohir. The stalagmite points _up_!"

"I don't see why it even matters," complained Elrohir. "We're Elves. We don't go underground."

"_Some_ Elves do," Anomen pointed out. "In Greenwood, the Great Hall of the King is hidden beneath the forest floor."

"Oh, Greenwood," Elrohir said loftily. "I am talking about cultured Elves, not ones who delve like Dwarves."

Anomen flushed. It was true that he had run away from Greenwood, but he was still loyal to that land and its folk. No matter how miserable he had been in Thranduil's household, Greenwood was still the place of his birth, and for the first few years of his life, anyway, he had been happy there.

"Rivendell Elves are afraid of caves," he retorted. "Like humans, they are fearful of the dark."

Now it was Elrohir's turn to redden. Anomen had compared him to a mortal! Before Erestor could intervene, the indignant elfling had picked up an ink pot and thrown it at his foster-brother.

"Oh," exclaimed Elladan. "Anomen has got black hair!"

"Elrohir, for shame!" cried Erestor. "That is no way for a son of Elrond to comport himself!"

"_I_ don't care," Elrohir proclaimed defiantly. "I have done that wood-elf a favor. Now he has got dark hair, he looks like a proper Elf instead of a prissy one. Pity his eyes are still blue, though."

"Are you suggesting that I look like a prissy Elf?" came a stern voice. Elrohir blanched and cringed back into his seat. For the voice belonged to Glorfindel the Twice-born, Balrog Slayer, and no one would dare suggest that his golden hair made _him_ 'prissy'.

"N-n-no, my Lord Glorfindel," he stammered.

"Yet I have golden hair—as does Anomen."

"Y-y-yes, my Lord."

"And we have blue eyes in common, is that not so?"

"Yes, m-m-my Lord Glorfindel."

"So golden hair does not make an Elf prissy?"

"Oh, no, my Lord!"

"Nor blue eyes?"

"Certainly not, my Lord Glorfindel!"

"Then I expect you shall never again call Anomen 'prissy'. For if you do, I shall take it as an attack upon me—and be sure that I know how to defend myself!"

"Oh, I never shall!" Elrohir assured the elf-lord. "Never ever!"

"Never is a very long time," Glorfindel observed, "but I shall hold you to your promise! Now, then: you and your brothers should have been at the practice field an hour ago. What has kept you from your duties?"

"Your pardon, Glorfindel," Erestor interjected, "but I kept them overlong because Elrohir persists in confusing stalactites and stalagmites. I think if he would make an effort he could tell them apart, but he seems to have no interest in Natural Philosophy."

"No interest in Natural Philosophy? Is this true, Elrohir?"

"I have some interest in the subject, my Lord," Elrohir replied in a subdued voice. "I like the lessons on mushrooms because it is useful to be able to tell the difference between poisonous mushrooms and edible ones. I like the lessons on berries, roots, and nuts for the same reason, and also the lessons on herbs, for one must be able to tell which plants may be used to bind wounds. And I like the lessons on igneous and metamorphic and sedimentary rocks because it seems good to tell at a glance which is which, for one may swiftly shape an igneous rock like obsidian into a sharp-edged tool in case one's blade is lost or broken. I do not understand, though, why we must study caves. How will knowledge about such places be useful? I mean no offense," the elfling added. "I'm just puzzled, is all."

"Tell me, Elrohir," Glorfindel said, "can you always predict what scrapes you will get into?"

"No, I cannot," Elrohir was forced to admit, his present predicament bearing witness to that fact.

"So will you allow that it may be good to amass knowledge and skills against the unexpected—the point being, of course, that the very fact that we cannot predict the future necessitates that we prepare for contingencies that may never occur?"

"Contain jams, um, continue gems?"

"Contingencies," Glorfindel said patiently. "What I mean is that you must prepare for many more situations than you will actually ever confront. But by preparing for so many, you will have a fair chance of being able to deal with the challenges that you do encounter. That is, the more you learn, the likelier you will be capable in the face of the unexpected. Now as to caves in particular: Arda is filled with them, and I deem it not unlikely that someday you may be forced to enter one. Consider that the Misty Mountains are near to hand and honeycombed with caverns that serve as lairs for both Orcs and Trolls. Let us imagine that you and your brothers have pursued Orcs into one of these lairs. Perhaps these Orcs have raided a settlement and carried off some of your friends and kinsmen. You have crept deep within the cave to effect a rescue, and you realize that an Orc is about to leap out from behind a stalagmite and attack Elladan. Tell me, which of these warnings would you wish to shout: 'Elladan, look out for the Orc behind that rock formation that arises from the floor of the cave' or 'Elladan, look out for the Orc behind that stalagmite'?"

All three elflings giggled, and Glorfindel permitted himself a smile as well. "So we are agreed, then, that it is best to learn as much as one can, even if it is not apparent that what one learns will be put immediately to use?"

"Yes, Lord Glorfindel," chorused the elflings. Their tutor nodded gratefully at the balrog-slayer. Erestor and Glorfindel had had their disagreements in the past, but in this matter they were in accord. "Well," Erestor said cheerfully, "now that that is sorted out, go along with you to the practice field."

Elladan and Elrohir made straight for the door, but Anomen lingered. Glorfindel and Erestor looked inquiringly at him.

"Yes, Anomen?" said Glorfindel.

"My Lord, I am very grateful for your explanation as to why we ought to learn about caves, but, um, I, um—"

"Is it your parti-colored hair of which you wish to speak?" Glorfindel said kindly.

Anomen blushed. "Yes, my Lord. It is streaked with ink. It is neither altogether golden, nor altogether black. I look—piebald!"

Glorfindel walked all about the elfling, studying his hair. "Interesting effect," he pronounced after a minute, "but I do not think I should like it to become the style of choice. Well, it seems that you have two options, Anomen. I could shave your hair to the scalp, or you could betake yourself to Elrond, who would no doubt be able to compound a concoction to complete the dyeing process so that your hair color would be uniform. The dye would gradually fade, and at the same time your hair will grow in at the scalp until at last it regains its proper color _in toto_."

"I should not like to be bald!" exclaimed Anomen.

"Then go show yourself to Elrond. You may make up the practice time a little each day until you have caught up with the others."

"Thank you, Lord Glorfindel." Anomen pulled his hood up and made for Elrond's study. "Enter," called Elrond at the sound of the elfling's tentative knock. "Ah," he said when Anomen sidled into the room, his head still covered by the hood. "As you are not in the habit of wearing your hood in the Hall, would I be right in guessing that some disaster has befallen your hair?"

"Yes, Ada," admitted Anomen, pushing back his hood. Elrond's eyebrows rose. Perhaps they would have risen all the higher if he had known that this was the first of many episodes in which Anomen's hair would be discolored or lost outright. However, he did not, and so he set about remedying the present ill. Like Glorfindel, he perceived that there were only two solutions: to shear Anomen's hair or color it all uniformly black. When Anomen indicated that he preferred the latter, Elrond began to rummage through the vials that stood on the shelves alongside his books. As he searched for the necessary ingredients, he drew out from Anomen the story of the day's events.

"So Elrohir did not see the need to learn about the realm beneath our feet," the elf-lord observed as he reached for his mortar and pestle. "Well, Anomen, I must tell you that Glorfindel was right in correcting him. I myself may testify to the truth of his words, for I have been in a cave."

"Have you?" Anomen said eagerly, pleased to know that he had something in common with Elrond.

"Yes, and I have also benefited from the study of Natural Philosophy. Would you like to hear the tale?"

"Yes, Ada!"

"I was about your age, Anomen, and I and my brother—you do know I had a brother?"

"He was your twin, was he not?"

"My twin," Elrond said softly. "Yes, Elros was my twin. For a time we did everything together, but in the end we made different choices. However," he resumed briskly, "the tale I tell you took place long before those choices were made. We were, in fact, no older than you. Like you, we were not dwelling with our parents. Our father, Ëarendil, had departed on a quest from which he never returned. Our mother Elwing had been wrested away from us when our sanctuary was attacked by the sons of Fëanor. She had been unable to win her way to us and had been forced to flee without her sons. Fortunately, Maglor, the son of Fëanor who captured us, proved kind in the end. Although his brother Maedhros wished us slain out of hand, Maglor refused to allow it and treated us as a father would."

Here was something else he had in common with Elrond, Anomen realized. The elf-lord had in effect been fostered. Perhaps this explained why Elrond was so willing to take in Anomen and others of the dispossessed.

"Maedhros did not approve," Elrond continued the tale, "but Maglor allowed us to explore our new home. As we recovered from our grief at losing our mother, we began to roam about like other elflings and have our little adventures. It was on one of those expeditions that we discovered a cave. It was not very large—the opening was scarcely bigger than we were—but its furthest corners were hidden by, yes, stalactites and stalagmites. It was cool on hot days, and we repaired to it often, pretending that is was a fortress and on its floor arranging pebbles in ranks that represented battling armies."

"Now, the land in which we dwelled was well defended, but even the best-guarded place may be penetrated by determined foes. You have met few Men but know already that some of them are greedy for wealth."

Anomen thought of the Dunlendings who had captured him and would have sold him to a Southron trader. He shuddered. He was lucky to be safe in Rivendell and not a slave in Harad!

Elrond smiled reassuringly at him and went on with his tale. "One day as my brother and I were playing in the forest, we heard the voices of Men. A few months earlier, humans had visited our foster-father. They had brought goods of high quality and had exchanged them for goods of similar quality. Both Elves and Men had been well pleased with the transaction, and Maglor had told the humans that they were welcome to return at any time. We thought that now these traders must have come back, and we broke cover, running heedlessly into the midst of a band of Men. At once we saw our mistake. These were no traders, for they had no pack horses and were armed with scimitars that no merchant carried. 'Catch them!' shouted one of the Men. Fortunately, we were both small and quick. Ducking under their grasping arms, we fled back into the forest, but they came after us. Dodging around trees, we at last came to our cave and scrambled inside. We each hid in a dark corner behind a stalagmite and remained perfectly quiet. We could hear them searching for us, and at last one of them discovered the cave's entrance and poked his head inside. "I don't see them," he called to his fellows, "but there are some places where they could be hidden." He withdrew his head, and we could hear him speaking to someone outside. 'You are skinny enough. Crawl in there and search the cave'."

"I looked about frantically. Now, this cave was inhabited by a great many spiders of a ferocious appearance. They were large and hairy and when disturbed, they would rear up so as to look intimidating."

"But they were not poisonous," Anomen interrupted excitedly. "To defend themselves, they relied upon size rather than venom."

Elrond nodded approvingly. "You, at least, have been paying attention to your lessons. I, however, was hopeful that the Men had not! Quickly I seized two of these fearsome-looking spiders, ran to the entrance, threw them down, and scrambled back into my hiding place. When the Man chosen to enter the cave poked his head in, he came face to face with two very angry, very large spiders. Did I mention that they made a hissing sound when disturbed? No? Well, in any event, the Man let out a great yell and hastily backed out of the cave. 'Nothing in there but poisonous spiders', he told his fellows. They asked him whether he were sure, and he said that anyone who didn't believe him was welcome to crawl inside the cave himself. Either no one was small enough or no one was brave enough—whatever the reason, no one volunteered and presently they retreated. Elros and I waited a while to be certain that they had gone, and then we emerged from the cave and ran to give the alarm. Maglor and his warriors left to search the forest—leaving sufficient folk to guard us, of course—and that night they returned to report that they had found and slain a band of Southrons. 'A few escaped', our foster-father told us, 'but that is all to the good, for they shall return to their fellows and report that this land is well defended'."

"You were very clever and very brave," Anomen said admiringly. "I was an elfling like you," Elrond replied. "No more and no less. Now go and look at yourself in the mirror."

While Elrond had been telling the tale, he had been applying the dye to Anomen's hair. The elfling arose and went to stand before the mirror. Clad in the clothes of Rivendell, his hair black, he could not have been distinguished from one of the elflings native to that place.

Just then a knock was heard upon the door. "Enter," Elrond called. Lindir stepped into the room. "My Lord, an ambassador has arrived from Greenwood. Shall I ask him to wait?"

"I will go now, Ada," Anomen said quickly.

"No, you may remain," Elrond said calmly. He turned to Lindir. "I will see him now. Please ask that food and drink for three be sent to my study—one of the three being an elfling."

Lindir bowed and vanished, returning shortly to usher the ambassador into the room. Anomen tried to sink through his chair. He knew this Elf to be one of Thranduil's courtiers. The ambassador glanced only briefly at him, however. 'One of Elrond's sons', the Elf thought to himself, dismissing the youngling from his mind.

Several hours later, an exhausted and relieved Anomen crawled into bed in the room he shared with Elrohir and Elladan. At first neither of the twins said anything to him. Then Elrohir hemmed and hawed a bit before speaking. "I am sorry about your hair," he said at last, having been instructed by his father that he should apologize. "I hope you won't mind too dreadfully it being black for a time."

"Actually, Elrohir, I shan't mind in the least," Anomen replied honestly. The Greenwood ambassador would remain a few more days, and it pleased Anomen that he would not need to go into hiding for the duration.

He was also pleased because he had gotten news of the seneschal Gilglîr, his cousin Tawarmaenas, and others of the Greenwood Elves who were dear to him. To the bewilderment of Thranduil's ambassador, Elrond kept steering the conversation to the small doings of even the least of the King's household. By the end of the evening, Anomen knew that the Cook had invented a new pastry, that the Horse-master was training a new colt, and that the Weapons-master had won a shooting competition at Lake-town. He had even learned that an elleth named Edwen Nana had been summoned to the Great Hall to nurse warriors injured in a skirmish with Orcs.

"It seems that a great many fine Elves dwell in Thranduil's Great Hall," Elrond had commented when the ambassador had taken his leave of them for the evening. Carefully, Anomen had agreed.

"Shouldn't you like to journey there someday, Anomen?" Elrond had continued.

"Perhaps," Anomen had replied noncommittally. "I should, however, like to hear more of the place," he added hastily, fearful lest he seem so uninterested that Elrond would not summon him to his presence when the ambassador rejoined the elf-lord on the morrow.

"Ah," replied Elrond, "if that is so, then you must accompany me tomorrow whilst I discuss with this ambassador the terms of the proposed trade agreement—that is, unless that subject would be too boring for a lively elfling such as yourself."

"I have learned today," Anomen replied cleverly, "that it is important to master notions of Natural Philosophy even if they do not seem immediately applicable to one's life. I am certain," he went on grandly, "that what is true of Natural Philosophy must be true of many subjects. For example, the history and geography and customs of folk far distant—I should learn about these things, for one may never know when such information may come in handy!"

Elrond smiled at Anomen's sly wisdom. "Very well. I shall speak to your tutor and see that you are excused from tomorrow's lessons. Indeed, I shall see that Elrohir and Elladan are excused as well. Sometimes a practical lesson is to be preferred to a schoolroom lecture."

'Oh, yes, in Erestor's case, surely!' Anomen said to himself, but he was wise enough not to express the sentiment aloud, for Elrond would have had to chide him for his disrespect.

The next day, when Elrohir learned at breakfast that he and his brothers were to sit in on the trade negotiations, it is a good thing that no ink pots were to hand, for he was not as eager for enlightenment as Anomen seemed to be. However, as before Elrond kept steering the conversation to matters that did not, strictly speaking, have anything to do with trade. By the end of the day, the elflings had learned a great deal about giant spiders that were bigger than grown Elves, rivers that put you to sleep if you so much as dipped a toe in them, towers inhabited by necromancers, and Men who changed themselves into bears at night whilst tending flocks of giant bees during the day. Altogether, the elflings passed a most satisfactory day, and at the end of it, Elrohir was actually sincere when he apologized once more for discoloring Anomen's hair. "I will never ever again do such a thing," he swore to the younger Elf. "Never is a very long time," Anomen quoted Glorfindel. "You had better not make any promises you can't keep, Elrohir."

"I am sure I could keep a promise if I wanted to," Elrohir replied indignantly.

"Well, then, you had better not make any promises you _won't_ keep," Anomen retorted with a grin.

"I think he has a point, Elrohir," Elladan observed. He, too, was grinning.

Elrohir spluttered a little, but then he began to grin as well. He may have had difficulty telling the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite, but he was beginning to grasp that when Elladan and Anomen were in accord, he might as well give in with good grace.

"Ah, well," he said at last as he pulled his duvet up to his chin, "as you do not think I can keep a promise, you shall have to live in fear of your hair changing in color at a future time."

In this, at least, Elrohir was telling the truth!


	5. Chapter 5: An Arm for an Arm

**From time to time certain readers beg that I do a certain something to Elrond. Well, now I have done it. There is also Glorfindel/Anomen bonding in this story, which is always a request.**

'**Burzum' means 'darkness' in Black Speech. Certain of the more daring Elves utter it as a curse.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers:**_** JastaElf, Lilandriel, Lonekit of Thunderclan, Lady Ambreanna, Foxgurl0000, Elfinabottle, RumorUnderOath, vectis, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**Beta reader: None. I take my chances on the shorter stories and only inflict the longer ones on Dragonfly.**

**Episode 5: An Arm for an Arm**

Elrond grimaced. "Hold still," Erestor scolded. "You are as bad as an elfling."

"I must look like an elfling," retorted Elrond. "I don't see why I shouldn't behave like one."

"He sounds like an elfling, too," observed Gandalf, taking his pipe from his mouth.

"I should remain silent if I were you," observed Glorfindel, "as it is in part your fault that Elrond looks as he does."

"How is it my fault?" protested Gandalf.

"You left your staff lying about."

"It wasn't 'lying about', Glorfindel. It was in my chamber."

"It should have been locked in the armory, for it is as good as a weapon."

"Oh, be silent the lot of you!" Elrond exclaimed. "Erestor, have you finished with my hair? I want to know how I look."

The others studied the back of Elrond's head.

"Well, how much hair have I got left?" Elrond demanded.

"Now that Erestor has removed the singed patches," said Glorfindel, "it is plain that you haven't lost all that much hair after all."

"I agree," said Gandalf. "Why, the damaged portions are hardly noticeable. Certainly you are nowhere near bald, which I believe is what you feared."

"Aye, I did not want to look like those scamps."

Those 'scamps'—Anomen and the twins—had entirely lost their hair on several occasions, so Elrond had a good idea of what he would have looked like had he lost his. Now he sighed with relief and turned to face his friends. They blanched. Elrond noticed their appalled expressions. "What is it?" he asked suspiciously. He raised his hand to his face. When he drew it back, it was blackened. Frantically, he swiped his hand over his face again. "I shall skin him!" he shouted.

"My line," Glorfindel said gloomily.

"I am sure," Erestor tried to soothe the Elf, "that we shall be able to compound an ointment that will help matters."

"What am I to do in the meantime? How may I face my folk and give such commands as are needful?"

"You still have your voice,' opined Erestor.

"You can use hand gestures," suggested Glorfindel.

"Have you tried wiggling your ears?" asked Gandalf.

The three Elves stared at the wizard dumbfounded. "Wiggle my ears," repeated Elrond. "I thought I heard you say wiggle my ears. But I _can't_ have heard you say that I should wiggle my ears. My ears must not be working—let alone capable of wiggling!"

Elrond's voice had gone up in pitch as he spoke, and Gandalf raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Now, now, Elrond," he said in an attempt to appease his friend, "there are people who get along without even one of them, let alone two."

"We are not talking about his testicles," said Glorfindel, who could not let this opportunity pass. "He really _does_ need his eyebrows, Mithrandir."

Elrond glared at Glorfindel. "If you want to keep both of _yours_, you'd better leave off joking at my expense."

Gandalf was backing up by now, and Glorfindel began to edge away as well. "I think," Erestor said nervously, "that I have a manuscript needs copying. A very long manuscript, by the way. It will take me a long time, I should think. Several months, really."

By now Erestor was babbling, and suddenly Elrond realized how truly ludicrous the situation was. His fists had been clenched, but now he relaxed them. His shoulders had been hunched, but now he relaxed those muscles as well. Next he began to smile, and then he began to chuckle.

"Several months?" he laughed. "It will take several months for my eyebrows to grow back in, but what are several months in the life of an Elf? At worst I shall have to endure the smiles of my friends, and in my life I have been on the receiving end of much worse!"

Elrond's words were immediately proved true, for Gandalf, Glorfindel, and Erestor commenced beaming. Before too long, all four were laughing heartily.

"Well," Elrond said as he removed the cork from a bottle of wine, "I suppose poor Anomen is halfway to Lothlórien by now. Glorfindel, you will have a time of it catching him and bringing him back. Whatever was he doing with your staff in the first place, Mithrandir?"

"_I_ don't know, Elrond," Gandalf said, shaking his head bemusedly.

"He tried to take it once in order to keep you from departing Rivendell," Erestor pointed out.

"True, but I have only just arrived, and he knows I mean to stay here for several weeks. I don't think he took it for that reason—not this time, anyway."

"I should ask Elrohir if I were you," Glorfindel suggested to Elrond. "I saw the two of them with their heads together after the noon meal."

Having no eyebrows, Elrond tried rolling his eyes, and his friends assured him that the results were impressive. "Now as to Elrohir," the elf-lord sighed after this ocular exercise, "yes, I should not be surprised if he were mixed up in this somehow. Likely he dared Anomen to purloin Mithrandir's staff. That is one of Anomen's weaknesses: he will allow Elrohir to goad him into mischief."

"Well," said Glorfindel, setting down his empty glass, "I had best be on my way, for it wouldn't do for Anomen to be out after dark. My scouts have picked up the tracks of a lame wolf, and such a creature might be hungry enough to stalk an elfling."

"If Anomen still has my staff, as seems likely," Gandalf said dryly, "I should be sorry for the wolf!"

And Anomen did indeed still have the wizard's staff. Clutching it, he tramped miserably through the undergrowth, heading in no particular direction. 'Now both Elrond and Mithrandir will be angry at me', he said to himself. Elrohir's dare had seemed such a simple one. Fetch Mithrandir's staff, show it to the twins, and return it to the wizard's chamber. Unfortunately, as Anomen had crept through the garden bearing the staff, he had unconsciously murmured aloud some words he had overheard the wizard uttering whilst setting off a display of fireworks for his elven friends. A bolt of flame had shot out the end of the staff, and it had enveloped the head of Elrond, who had been enjoying an afternoon stroll in the garden. Elrond shouted in surprise but had the presence of mind to instantly dunk his head in the fountain. Anomen, meanwhile, shrieked and fled the garden. As he fled heedlessly, he had carried off the staff without meaning to.

When the elfling recovered his wits, he was deep in the forest. He held the staff at arms length, staring at it with big eyes. He wanted to cast it aside; fortunately, however, in spite of his fear he somehow understood the danger that would be posed by the object if it fell into the wrong hands. 'It is a thing of power', he murmured. 'I cannot abandon it in the forest, lest it be found by someone who might misuse it'. Here Anomen winced. 'As I did', he added sadly. He took a deep breathe. 'I must return it to Mithrandir', he said to himself.

Anomen had not paid any attention to where his feet had carried him. 'I had better climb a tree to get my bearings' he said to himself. With his belt he devised a hanger for the staff. Allowing it to dangle behind him, he nimbly ascended a tall pine tree whose top rose above the forest canopy. To his relief, he saw that in his wanderings he had ended up only a few miles from Elrond's Hall. Anxious to return to the Hall before darkness fell, he descended and commenced walking briskly toward Rivendell.

The elfling had very nearly reached his destination when he sensed an unaccustomed presence in the forest. Spinning about, he caught sight of a grey shadow slipping between the trees. Acting upon instinct, Anomen at once leaped up and caught hold of a tree limb. Swinging his legs up over the limb, he laid flat upon its length. He had no sooner stretched out upon the branch than a wolf limped out into the open. The creature circled haltingly around the base of the tree and then stopped under the limb upon which Anomen sheltered. Snarling, it attempted to leap up, but, unbalanced because of its lameness, it fell back awkwardly. Hastily, Anomen climbed to a higher limb, where he watched as the wolf circled the tree several more times. At last the beast settled itself upon its haunches at the base of the tree, from which spot it intently watched the elfling.

Anomen considered what to do. Had the forest been thicker at this point, he would have tried leaping from tree to tree and so returning to the Hall in that fashion or, at the very least, drawing near enough to shout for help. Had he his bow, he would have tried to bring down the creature. The only weapon he carried, however, was the small knife that he bore everyday as a matter of course, and this was more a tool than a weapon. He had Mithrandir's staff, of course. He could set fire to the wolf's fur and so escape in that fashion. Anomen considered. 'No', he decided at last. 'The staff should be used only at great need. I am safe for now, and perhaps by morning the wolf will have given up and gone in search of other prey'. Thus resolved, Anomen settled himself securely in the crotch of the tree and prepared to sleep.

While Anomen had been wandering the woods, Glorfindel had been tracking him. It was a more frustrating task than usual because there was no pattern to the elfling's movements. At last, after several hours of meandering, Glorfindel realized that Anomen had struck out on a direct path for Elrond's Hall. 'That's a good lad', the balrog-slayer smiled to himself. 'He is going home to face his punishment. I do hope he has got the staff with him so that he may restore it to Mithrandir straight away. Such a gesture will both mitigate the lad's punishment and save me from having to arrange a scouring of the forest to retrieve that wretched block of wood'.

The sun was sinking below the horizon, but Glorfindel had no further need of its light for he no longer needed to track Anomen. Instead, he set out on the same direct path as Anomen had taken. As he walked, he entertained himself with thoughts of the dinner that would be waiting for him when he returned to the Hall. He also entertained himself with thoughts of 'dessert', which he very much hoped would take the form of a certain elleth visiting from Lothlórien who in the Hall of Fire had seemed enraptured by the accounts he had been giving of his various exploits over the centuries.

Suddenly Glorfindel's ruminations were interrupted as he was thrown violently to the ground. He cried out at a sudden pain in his shoulder. In his distraction, the Elf had walked heedlessly, and almost literally, into the maw of the lame wolf. The beast had leaped for his throat, but fortunately for Glorfindel, the crippled wolf missed its mark and sunk its teeth into the Elf's shoulder instead. Now wolf and Elf rolled about on the ground, the wolf trying to maintain its grip and the Elf scrabbling at the creature's throat with one hand while trying to reach his knife with the other.

Above, Anomen awoke to the sounds of snarling wolf and cursing biped. He heard the word 'Burzum', which he knew to be Black Speech, but the voice was not that of an Orc. Peering down, he saw the wolf and a figure struggling beneath him, and he realized at once that this was just the sort of 'great need' that would justify wielding the wizard's staff. Without hesitation, he seized the staff, pointed it as best he could at the wolf, and pronounced the words of Command—but much more loudly than he had uttered them earlier that day. A ball of flame exploded from the end of the staff and Anomen was thrown backward. Fortunately, the elfling landed flat upon his back upon a soft windrow of leaves so that the force of the blast was both dissipated throughout the whole of his body and absorbed by the leaves. Dazed only a little, he heard yelps and saw a flaming quadruped hurling itself through the forest, quickly vanishing behind the trees. Sitting upon the ground, panting, smoke arising from his hair, was an Elf. As the smoke cleared, Anomen saw that it was Glorfindel. "Are you badly hurt?" Elf and elfling cried simultaneously. Glorfindel began to laugh with relief and opened his arms, and Anomen gladly crawled into his embrace, hiccoughing a little as he tried not to cry his own relief.

"Where is Mithrandir's staff?" Glorfindel said at last when both he and Anomen were breathing normally.

"I went one way and the staff went another," Anomen said, "but it cannot have been thrown far." He began to search for it, starting from the tree trunk and working outward. The moon had at last arisen, and with its help in a very little while he had found the staff lying under a bush. It looked no worse for its adventure, and Anomen brought it to Glorfindel, who used it to lever himself onto his feet, with some assistance from Anomen as well. Leaning heavily upon the staff, the balrog-slayer began to lead the way toward Elrond's Hall. They had not gone far, however, when they heard Elrond and other Elves shouting their names. Gandalf had seen and heard the explosion from his balcony and had told the Elves in what direction to search.

Elrond was much too relieved to see both Glorfindel and Anomen alive to scold the elfling. In any event, it was not his custom to upbraid his sons publicly. He merely took Anomen's hand and led him to his chamber. There the elfling gladly assisted his foster-father as he tended to Glorfindel's injuries. Eagerly he handed Elrond this and that vial or instrument, sometimes anticipating the need and reaching for an object even before it had been requested.

Glorfindel's shoulder was of course of greatest concern. However, once Elrond had cut away the balrog-slayer's tunic, he saw that the wolf had in fact done little damage. No doubt the lame creature had been famished, a condition that had led him to attack a full-grown Elf, but also one that had left him weak and incapable of savaging his prey.

As for Glorfindel's hair, it was scorched even worse than Elrond's had been. It looked very ragged after Elrond had cut out the burnt portions. Moreover, the balrog-slayer had lost both his eyebrows and his eyelashes. After Glorfindel had washed the soot from his face, he was left with an expression of perpetual surprise. Oddly, though, the balrog-slayer was laughing and joking continually, even when he saw himself in the mirror. Anomen wondered at his demeanor, but Elrond did not. He knew that the balrog-slayer was so relieved that Anomen had not fallen prey to a rogue wolf that he cared not one whit about his own injuries.

After Glorfindel had been seen to, Elrond tended to Anomen. Carefully he examined the elfling, but it seemed that the young one had suffered nothing worse than some bruises and scrapes. Satisfied, Elrond ordered that food and drink be brought to his chamber, and he relaxed with a glass of wine, smiling beneficently upon his friend and his foster-son as they gratefully ate their belated dinner. Midway through the meal, Gandalf knocked upon the door. Anomen paused in mid-bite. "Mithrandir," he cried remorsefully, "I _am_ sorry that I took your staff, and I did not mean to carry it off into woods."

"I am sure you did not," replied the Istar, "but since you scampered into a place that proved dangerous, I am glad you _did_ carry it with you."

"But he shouldn't have run away in the first place," Elrond interjected, "and before that he should not have taken that which did not belong to him."

"True, but once he panicked and fled, I would rather he have the staff than not. By the by, Anomen, you showed great presence of mind in wielding it as you did."

For the second time that day, Elrond rolled his eyes. One would think Anomen the hero of the piece rather than a mischievous elfling who deserved punishment. Presence of mind, indeed! Pity he had not shown such 'presence of mind' when Elrohir dared him to take the staff. (Elrond knew for a certainty that this was the case, for the older elfling had confessed to the deed whilst Glorfindel had been out searching for the younger one.)

"Anomen," Elrond said sternly, "you may have shown presence of mind, but the need to demonstrate that quality would not have arisen had you not run away, and you wouldn't have run away if you hadn't singed my hair, and you wouldn't have singed my hair if you hadn't taken Mithrandir's staff."

This was an impressive recitation, and Anomen looked suitably contrite at the end of it. Elrond fought the desire to roll his eyes yet again. How was he to maintain his stern demeanor in the face of that woeful expression? His resolution dwindling, the elf-lord pressed on desperately.

"As a result of your actions, Anomen," Elrond said with forced severity, "Lord Glorfindel will not have the use of his arm for several days—perhaps several weeks! Therefore, until such time as he has fully recovered, you will remain by his side and assist him in his duties. That is, you must furnish an arm to replace the one you have deprived him of. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ada," Anomen said meekly. Elrond frowned. He could not say why, but he felt dissatisfied with the outcome of the conversation. Oddly, he would have been happier if Anomen had not been so meek.

The next day Anomen cheerfully set off for the Armory immediately after breakfast. Suddenly Elrond perceived that there had been a flaw in his plan for punishing the elfling: through his attendance on Glorfindel, Anomen was by necessity excused from his lessons with Erestor! Elrond groaned, and the eyebrows that were not there shot up and contracted. If Elrond had been a Man, he should have had a headache.

When Anomen presented himself before Glorfindel, the balrog-slayer pointed him toward a pile of feathers and shafts, and the elfling spent the morning patiently gluing fletching upon arrows. In the afternoon, Glorfindel set the elfling to polishing shields. To this task the elfling brought the same care that he had expended on fletching the arrows.

The next day, there were no arrows to fletch or shields to polish, and Glorfindel decided to teach Anomen how to use the grinding wheel. Anomen was familiar with the use of the whetstone, but he had never used the wheel. Fascinated, he stood by Glorfindel as the balrog-slayer demonstrated. Then Glorfindel laid his hands over the elfling's and guided him in sharpening a sword. Glorfindel gradually allowed Anomen to take over, and soon Anomen was happily seated before the wheel, carefully honing the edges of swords and knives.

The following day, Glorfindel arrived early at the Armory and examined with approval the weapons that Anomen had sharpened. When Anomen arrived, the balrog-slayer handed him one of the swords and then with his uninjured arm picked out one for himself. "I must keep in training," he said to the elfling. "You shall be my sparring partner."

Anomen's eyes went so very wide that Glorfindel had to suppress a laugh. Carefully Glorfindel led Anomen through a series of maneuvers. Soon the elfling was parrying Glorfindel's blows with more and more confidence, until at last Anomen suddenly feinted to one side and then thrust his sword past Glorfindel's guard, whacking Glorfindel upon the thigh with the flat of his sword. Glorfindel dropped down upon one knee. "I yield, I yield, O mighty warrior!" he laughed. He arose and tousled Anomen's hair. "Come. Let us eat lunch."

As they ate, Glorfindel told the elfling of campaigns in which he had fought, and if Elrond could have seen how attentive Anomen was, he would have realized that the youngster was learning at least as much geography and history as he would have mastered had he been sitting at a desk in the library listening to one of Erestor's lectures.

And so Anomen passed the period of 'punishment' very profitably indeed. Each day the young Elf strengthened his skills, developed new ones, and learned a little more about the peoples and history of Arda. So absorbed was he in his daily tasks that he was not at all distressed when Gandalf announced one day at dinner that he was departing for Lothlórien on the morrow.

"I think," Elrond said later that evening as he strolled in the garden with the wizard, "that this time Anomen will not be stealing your staff to prevent you from leaving Rivendell."

"No, he will not," agreed Gandalf, smiling a little ruefully. "By the by, isn't it taking an unusually long time for Glorfindel's shoulder to heal? I should have expected him to have been better several weeks ago."

"Yes, I had noticed that," agreed Elrond, who now was smiling as well. "Certainly enough time has passed for his hair to grow back!"

"Yours likewise," observed Gandalf. "Your eyebrows are as impressive as formerly."

"Good! For even though Anomen has kept out of mischief these past several weeks, I am sure I shall still have need of my eyebrows in the future."

"Ah, so you do not think Anomen has entirely learned his lesson?" said Gandalf. "Perhaps," the wizard continued with a smile, "the supposed punishment has not been sufficiently rigorous."

"I have been considering the subject of punishment, my friend," said Elrond, also smiling, "and I have concluded that I do not truly expect Anomen's behavior to improve on account of any penalty, either slight or severe. Nor would I want him to improve for such a reason, for that would mean that his obedience would be the result of fear. There is no virtue in doing something merely because you are constrained to do it. You want to behave well, you admire others and wish to emulate them—those are far better motives for good behavior."

"Anomen _does_ wish to behave well, and he admires you and Glorfindel, among others."

"Exactly," agreed Elrond. "It is thus merely necessary to encourage him to do what he naturally wishes to do and to wait patiently for the encouragement to have an effect. Anomen is young, and he is therefore impulsive and does not always think through the consequences of his actions. For the moment, the prospect of imminent punishment does serve as a useful substitute for the foresight that Anomen has not yet perfected. It does deter him from some acts of mischief. It is, however, the passage of time and Anomen's innate goodness that will ultimately bring about better behavior on his part."

"So you see punishment as an imperfect but temporary measure that shall be less and less needful as Anomen matures."

"Yes, Mithrandir, and the punishment itself is not what will lead him to permanently amend his behavior in any way that truly matters. Indeed, _severe_ punishment would probably have the opposite effect, causing him to fear and distrust his elders—not sentiments likely to cause him to wish to emulate their virtues!"

"So," Gandalf chuckled, "I would surmise that you are not troubled by the fact that Anomen has _not_ been suffering daily at the hands of Glorfindel—metaphorically speaking, of course, as he has only got the one hand."

"No, now I think on it, I am not at all troubled. Indeed, Anomen seems to be thriving on his 'punishment'. In fact, I deem it a pity that Glorfindel will soon have to experience a miraculous recovery. Some strange Men have come too close to our southern border, and I must ask our friend to lead a scouting party to that district. I expect that Glorfindel will arise from his bed tomorrow exclaiming over how much stronger his limb has grown overnight."

"Do not let him make the announcement until I have departed!" Gandalf exclaimed hastily. "Anomen may decide to steal my staff after all once he realizes that you mean to send him back to the schoolroom!"

Glorfindel did indeed wait until after Gandalf's departure before letting it be known that his shoulder was fully healed and that his arm had regained its strength. Oddly, he looked down-hearted as he made the announcement, but perhaps the shadow that passed over his face was merely the last trace of the event that had singed his eyebrows and eyelashes. As for Anomen, he, too, seemed inexplicably sad that his punishment had nearly come to an end. I say nearly because Glorfindel assigned him one more task. "You are not half bad at sharpening weapons," Glorfindel said to the elfling with seeming casualness. "Very well, then! You shall sharpen the sword that I shall bear with me on this mission."

Anomen's face lit up without benefit of flame or explosion, and he hastened to the Armory. There he set the grinding wheel in motion and honed the edge of Glorfindel's sword until it could have split the proverbial hair.

When he returned to the Hall and proffered the sword to Glorfindel, the balrog-slayer took it and examined it carefully. "Well," he said at last, trying to sound gruff, "you have done a creditable job."

"I _like_ to sharpen the weaponry" Anomen blurted out. Then he looked horrified. "Oh, please don't tell Lord Elrond," he begged.

"You like that task, do you?" said Glorfindel, pretending surprise. "Well, I shall not lie: you have been very helpful to me. Indeed, I should not like Elrond to know that you enjoy working with the weaponry, for then he should forbid you the Armory any time he wished to punish you. Very well, then. If I find that you have behaved yourself in my absence, I shall say nothing to Elrond and upon my return you may accompany me into the Armory and perform such tasks as are within your capacity. But mind you don't get into mischief or I shall hold the agreement as naught! Do we have an accord?"

Anomen gladly assented to Glorfindel's terms, and it must be said that the prospect of a reward proved as effective as the prospect of punishment as an inducement to good behavior. Of course, as Elrond pointed out to Glorfindel, it is no more virtuous to act in hopes of gaining a reward than it is to act in hopes of avoiding a punishment. Still, Elrond allowed that, if punishment could be a useful but temporary measure, so, too, could recompense. Thus, encouraged toward good behavior, discouraged from the bad, Anomen continued on his path toward adulthood.


	6. Chapter 6: What's in a Name?

**This episode goes back in time to Legolas's arrival at Rivendell.**

**Episode 6: What's in a Name?**

Elladan and Elrohir huddled over their spinning tops. "Oh oh!" cried Elladan, "yours has bumped into mine!"

"Yes, it has," Elrohir said smugly, "and, see, yours is wobbling."

The two elflings watched, the one dismayed, the other triumphant, as the head of Elladan's top tilted more and more to one side. At last the toy toppled over.

"Hah!" gloated Elrohir. "Another round to me!"

"I do not understand how you always manage to win," complained Elladan. "If two tops bump, should they not both fall over? Why is it always my top that wobbles?"

"Ada says that what matters is the angle at which the one top strikes the other," Elrohir replied, picking up his toy and fitting it into wooden base from which it would be launched by the pull of a cord. He began to wind the string, then suddenly stopped.

"Yonder rides Mithrandir."

Elladan, who was preparing his own top, looked up with interest.

"He has got something under his cloak."

The two elflings exchanged excited glances, their game forgotten. They shoved their tops into their pouches and raced after Mithrandir, who was drawing his horse up before the Hall. Elrond, their father, stood awaiting the wizard as if he had expected him, although the twins knew for a certainty that no messenger had arrived that day.

"Mae govannen, Mithrandir," Elrond greeted his old friend. "You have arrived in time for dinner, as you always do. I have always wondered whether you do so by design or by chance."

"I leave nothing to chance," the wizard replied loftily.

"What have you got under your cloak?" interrupted Elrohir. His father glanced reprovingly at him.

"I want to know, too," Elladan said quickly, anxious to deflect blame from his brother. To some folk the sharing that went on between the two brothers may have seemed lopsided. Elladan usually found something pleasant to share with his brother. Elrohir, however, all too often could proffer only something unpleasant, such as, in this case, their father's disapproval. Still, Elladan never wearied of assuming a generous portion of his brother's ill fortune, and in doing so the younger twin truly gave proof to the phrase 'share and share alike'.

Mithrandir pretended not to notice the miniature domestic drama that was unfolding before him. "So you want to know what I have got under my cloak, eh?" he said to the twins.

"Is it fireworks?" Elrohir asked eagerly.

"No, not fireworks," replied the wizard. "Although," he added, "I expect on occasion he will be responsible for setting some off."

"He?" said Elladan. "Is it alive?"

"Alive and lively," Mithrandir answered.

"A Perian!" exclaimed Elrohir. "You have got a Perian under your cloak!"

"No, he is no Perian."

"He's not—not a Dwarf," ventured Elladan. He and his brother recoiled a few steps as the cloaked creature gave an indignant shout at being referred to as a Dwarf. After a few moments of wariness, however, Elladan and Elrohir drew near again. Even shouting, the creature's voice was melodious. Moreover, the twins were naturally inquisitive, and their curiosity won out over their caution. Mithrandir rewarded their temerity by winking at them and drawing aside the cloak.

"Manwë!" exclaimed Elrohir.

"You will please not swear, Elrohir," Elrond chided him.

"Your pardon," Elrohir said swiftly. His eyes were fixed upon the small figure sitting before Mithrandir. "He is very little," Elrohir blurted out.

"Elrohir!"

"He _is_, Ada."

"Has he got a name?" Elladan chimed in.

"Elladan!"

"He is little, Elrohir," Mithrandir said, "and you will therefore treat him kindly. He does have a name, Elladan. You may address him as Anomen."

Elladan was about to comment that 'Anomen' was a very odd name for an Elf, but his father caught his eye and frowned warningly. Elrond was himself curious about the name, however. The Elf realized that, although the wizard said the elfling _had_ a name, it did not follow that 'Anomen' _was_ that name. 'Mithrandir said we may call the elfling Anomen', he thought to himself. 'Odd that he did not say that the elfling _is_ Anomen'.

Elrond kept these thoughts to himself, however, merely exchanging a glance with the wizard, who assumed an air of innocence. Aloud Elrond said, "Mithrandir, you and Anomen must be hungry and weary. Pray dismount and enter the Hall. Be sure that your horse will be seen to whilst you enjoy the hospitality of my household."

Elrond reached up his arms to help Anomen from the horse. After a moment's hesitation, the elfling allowed Elrond to lift him by the armpits. Now the Elf was better able to gauge the elfling's condition. 'He is very thin', Elrond thought to himself as he set the elfling upon the ground, 'and his clothes are threadbare, his boots nearly in tatters. Who looked after him, I wonder, before he took up with Mithrandir?'

Once Elrond had set the elfling on his feet, Elladan and Elrohir sidled nearer and stared at him. Anomen stared back, silent and guarded. Mithrandir dismounted and came to stand by the elfling, who inched as close to him as he could, the wizard's cloak once again nearly hiding the youngster. The wizard patted his shoulder reassuringly as Elrond looked on, amused. 'The old codger has a tender side', he said to himself, 'although he does his best to disguise it'.

The Elf lord gestured toward the door. "Please enter, my friend." Mithrandir inclined his head in acknowledgement of Elrond's courtesy. Taking Anomen by the hand, he led the elfling inside, Elrond following. Behind them trailed Elladan and Elrohir, whispering excitedly together.

"He is very raggedy," observed Elrohir. "I have seen Men raggedy, but never an Elf."

"He has got blue eyes and golden hair. No one hereabouts looks like that except for Glorfindel. Do you suppose he is from Lothlórien?"

"Our Grandnana Galadriel would allow no Lothlórien Elf to dress in rags," objected Elrohir.

"Perhaps he had the bad luck to encounter wicked Men who stole his clothes and left him those rags in their place."

"If he had encountered wicked Men, they would have stolen _him_," objected Elrohir.

Erestor, their tutor, had told the twins many frightening tales of elflings seized and sold into slavery by evil Men. These were in part admonitory tales meant to frighten younglings who might otherwise stray into the forest, but there was some truth within the tutor's exaggerations. Southron raiders did indeed on occasion capture and carry off Elves. Of course, such wicked Men rarely lived to boast of their exploit when Rivendell was their target. Glorfindel the twice-born balrog slayer, who was as skilled in the hunt as he was bold in battle, would track the miscreants, never faltering until he rescued the victims and meted out justice to their captors.

"Perhaps," speculated Elladan, "he did encounter raiders, but they thought him too little to be worth stealing."

"In that case, they would have slain him," retorted Elrohir.

Elrohir was correct. It is a shameful truth that some Men will slay and maim the innocent and helpless out of sheer malice.

"I suppose you are right," conceded Elladan.

"Of course I am right," Elrohir replied haughtily. "Besides, look carefully at his garments. Even though they are raggedy, they are of elven design. Messengers from Greenwood the Great wear tunics of that cut and color."

"He comes from Greenwood?" Elladan said in surprise. "That realm is far, far away. Erestor says one must cross the Great Plain to reach it. Shape-changers dwell on that plain!"

Mithrandir suddenly looked over his shoulder and glared at them. The elflings remained silent for several minutes before venturing to resume their conversation. "So you think he comes from the realm of King Thranduil," whispered Elladan.

At once, Mithrandir stopped and spun about, and this time his expression was nothing short of ferocious. The twins again fell silent, and this time they did not resume their speculations over Anomen's origins.

Fortunately, Mithrandir's good humor was soon restored. As they passed a hallway, a tiny figure darted out and attached itself to Mithrandir's leg. "'Thrandir!" the little creature cooed.

The wizard laughed and reached down to pick up the child. "Arwen, you speak more clearly each time I visit. I believe you will be able to say every syllable when I next return."

The elfling pouted. "You are going to go away again?"

"Yes, but I will leave you something very, very special. You will be so delighted that you will not think of me at all."

Mithrandir put down Arwen and then gently disentangled Anomen from his cloak.

"Ooh, look! His eyes have little pieces of the sky in them!" exclaimed Arwen.

"Why, I do believe that you are right, Arwen," Mithrandir said indulgently. "And what of Anomen's hair?"

Arwen studied Anomen carefully, and the older elfling smiled shyly under her friendly scrutiny.

"Sunflower," she pronounced at last.

"I do believe you are right again, Arwen," Mithrandir nodded.

"But," Arwen continued solemnly, "he needs a bath."

"I think you are right about that as well," agreed Mithrandir.

"You will be glad to know, daughter," Elrond said, "that I am leading Mithrandir and Anomen to a room where they may bathe. And while they do, you may go with your brothers to their chamber, where you may help them search their wardrobe. I am certain that therein you will find some clothes that Elladan and Elrohir have outgrown but that will be the perfect size for Anomen."

"Oh, but I would rather give Anomen a bath. I have just washed my doll, so I know how."

In proof, Arwen held up a soggy rag doll. Anomen winced and glanced up appealingly at Mithrandir. Elladan grinned. As for Elrohir, he smirked.

"I think," Elrond replied gravely, "that you had better accompany your brothers, for you have much better taste in clothes than they do. If they select garments for Anomen, he may end up looking like one of the scarecrows that Men plant in their fields to discourage crows from feasting upon their crops. You wouldn't want Anomen to look like a scarecrow, would you?"

"Oh no, I would not want that!"

"Excellent! So I may count on your discretion in this matter?"

Arwen assured her father that she would do her best to help her brothers choose wisely. The three elflings went off on their errand. Arwen could be heard chattering long after they had vanished around a corner.

"You may be sure that Arwen will always speak her mind," Mithrandir said dryly.

"True. She will always be forthright in stating her wishes. Unfortunately, I shall not always be so successful at distracting her from them."

"Why unfortunately? Is it not the goal of a parent that his child should become bold in pursuit of her desires?"

This conversation was interrupted when Anomen suddenly swayed and closed his eyes, bumping against Mithrandir.

"We blather, and the lad is weary and no doubt hungry as well," Mithrandir said, his voice chagrined. He bent down and scooped up Anomen with as little effort as he had expended in picking up Arwen. "Will you send some food and drink to the bathing chamber?" he said to Elrond.

"Of course, my friend," Elrond assured him. A little while later Elrond himself carried a tray into the room where Mithrandir and Anomen soaked in tubs of warm water. Elrond smiled when he saw that Anomen's head could barely be seen over the top of his tub. He put the tray upon a table. "Soup, bread, and cider," he called. "Mithrandir, when you have eaten, and after your young friend is abed, will you come and join me for a glass of wine?"

It was several hours before Mithrandir arrived at Elrond's chamber. Anomen, although tired, fought against sleep. He knew his guardian would leave the chamber once he was settled; and even though the folk of Rivendell seemed kind, he did not wish to be left alone in this strange place. Patiently, Mithrandir betook himself to a chair by the window. There he puffed upon his pipe, from which he sent smoke creatures to dance about Anomen's head. As a herd of tiny vapor horses galloped before him, Anomen at last fell asleep.

"How does the lad fare?" Elrond said when Mithrandir had settled himself in a comfortable armed chair, his legs resting upon the fender, a glass of wine in his hands.

"He is asleep, although he dozed off reluctantly, for he did not wish me to leave."

"Did Arwen and the twins find him suitable clothing?"

"Oh yes, quite suitable. They presented him with three sets of daywear in good repair. They also found him a nightshirt. He has got it on now."

"They have done well."

"Indeed they have, Elrond."

The preliminaries dispensed with, Elrond now steered the conversation toward what he most desired to know. "He bears a curious name," the Elf lord said casually.

"Anomen? Yes, I suppose it is an interesting one."

"It is an unusual name for an Elf. I do not believe it is Sindarin."

"No, I suppose not," the wizard agreed.

"Nor Telerin?"

"No."

"And it is certainly not a name derived from the tongue of the Quendi. In fact, Mithrandir, it very much sounds like a name cobbled together out of one or more of the mannish tongues. I wonder how he came to have such an odd name."

"Perhaps his father did not take much care in the naming of him," Mithrandir suggested.

"Odd that he would not. Anomen is a handsome lad, his manner gentle, his face intelligent. One would expect him to have been doted on by his parents, and of course a name is the first gift that a loving parent gives to a child."

"In my travels," Mithrandir replied, "I have observed that parents dote on their children whether or not they are not handsome, gentle, or intelligent. Therefore, much of what you say is beside the point."

"True. Much of it—but not all. Again I say: a name is the first gift given unto a child by his parents."

"Perhaps Anomen has no parents. I found him unaccompanied. He was lurking lost and frightened on the fringes of Imladris. To be precise, he was hiding in a tree."

"Mithrandir, every young one must have parents."

"Oh, at the outset, to be sure. But children lose parents all the time. You know this to be a fact."

"True," Elrond said softly. His children had lost their mother. Louder he said, "Have you asked him who raised him?"

"No, and I do not think that would be wise. It is something he does not wish to speak of, I warrant, and I am sure you must agree that conversations on such matters should not be forced."

"I do. Of course, that leaves you in an awkward position. What are you going to do with the lad?"

"Ah, now you mention it, I was hoping—"

"I rather thought you were," interrupted Elrond wryly. Mithrandir and Elrond had been friends for so long that it was easy for one to anticipate the thoughts of the other.

"And your answer?"

"Yes, I will look after him. He would not be the first fosterling to have dwelt at Rivendell, nor will he be the last."

Mithrandir nodded. "Keep him secret and keep him safe, my friend," he said, suddenly grave.

Elrond raised his eyebrows at that adjuration and the tone in which it was uttered. 'This is a lad of some importance', he thought to himself. 'He has blue eyes and golden hair and hales from Greenwood—although Mithrandir would not have that spoken of. I have heard some unsettling reports from that land about the demeanor of its king. It seems that Thranduil still grieves over the death of his wife in childbirth'.

Elrond's ruminations were interrupted when Mithrandir cleared his throat. "Your thoughts are wandering, Elrond," he said pointedly. "I am surprised, for as Lord of Imladris, you have enough to occupy you here."

"Yes, and you have now added to my responsibilities," Elrond shot back.

Mithrandir lifted his glass and saluted his friend. "Yes, I have added to your responsibilities, but I believe that Anomen will more than repay your efforts. He will return your affection, and with interest."

Just then a servant knocked upon the door. "Your pardon, Master Mithrandir," he said, "but the little elfling you brought with you, the Cook just chased him from the kitchen. It seems he was raiding the pantry."

"Tonight he is still _your_ responsibility, my friend," Elrond smirked, "and apparently he wasn't sleeping as soundly as you thought."

Mithrandir groaned and arose, setting aside his wine glass. "I suppose," he said hopefully, "that Glorfindel might lend me his tracking skill?"

"Glorfindel is patrolling the banks of the Bruinen. You must rely upon your own wits in this matter—and I must warn you that as a parent I have learned that it takes great cleverness to second-guess an elfling."

Mithrandir shrugged resignedly and went off in pursuit of his missing charge. In the end, however, he did not have far to seek. Anomen was hiding nearby, nibbling the heel of a loaf of bread while he waited for the wizard to leave Elrond's chamber. As soon as Mithrandir emerged, the elfling showed himself. 'The little fellow came looking for me', Mithrandir said to himself, pleased that the elfling trusted him but a little wistful at the thought that he could not keep the lad by his side. Pushing aside the wistfulness, however, he smiled and held out his hand. Anomen gladly took it, and the two returned to the chamber that they would share, if only for a little while.


	7. Chapter 7: Hoisted on Their Own Petard

**Episode 7: Hoisted on Their Own Petard**

"I'm sick," moaned Anomen.

"Nonsense," said Erestor. "You cannot be sick. It is true that Estel is sick, but you can't be. Elladan and Elrohir are not sick, and they have a modicum of human blood. If _they_ haven't fallen ill, you certainly won't get away with claiming that _you_ have."

"But, Master Erestor, I really, truly am sick."

"Impossible! Now stop malingering and finish your task."

Anomen picked up his pen, but suddenly he dropped it and leaped to his feet. Before he could take a step toward the door, however, Erestor had him by the collar.

"Enough of these excuses," Erestor began. He was interrupted when the elfling deposited his breakfast upon the tutor's gown. "By Eru," Erestor exclaimed, "you are sick!"

"I told you I was," Anomen said miserably.

"But how is this possible? You _are_ an Elf—aren't you?"

"Perhaps he is an Orc," Elrohir suggested helpfully.

Erestor shook his head. "More likely he is, like you, a Peredhel—half-elven."

"But _we're_ not sick," Elladan reminded him.

"Perhaps his moiety of human blood conferred a susceptibility to illness that your moiety did not. Still, it is by no means certain that he has any human blood at all. Anomen, can you tell us anything about your parentage?"

The elfling shook his head sadly. He knew who his father was, and he knew the name of his mother, but beyond that no one had ever told him anything. He supposed he could have pored over the chronicles, which would surely have something to say on the subject of the genealogy of the kings of Greenwood the Great. He had avoided such books, however, for he had no wish to be reminded of the family that he felt had never been his.

"Well, whatever your parentage," said Erestor, wrinkling up his face and holding his robe away from his body, "you had better go see Lord Elrond. Elladan and Elrohir, will you accompany him?"

The twins agreed with alacrity, for they never passed up an opportunity to escape the schoolroom, even if it meant walking alongside an odoriferous elfling.

To reach Elrond's chamber, they had to pass Glorfindel's, and as they did so, the balrog slayer emerged.

"Why are you wandering about?" he asked suspiciously. "Shouldn't you be at your lessons?"

In answer, Anomen retched, and Glorfindel stepped back hastily. "That accounts for the awful odor, then," the warrior grimaced. "I thought Estel must be hereabouts somewhere, but I see that you are the fragrant one, Anomen."

"We are taking him to Ada," Elrohir said importantly.

"He will be delighted," Glorfindel said dryly. "Be off with you, then—although I shall expect you, Elladan, and you, Elrohir, at the practice field after the noon meal."

The trio of elflings walked on, the servants they encountered giving them a wide berth. At last they came to the chamber of Elrond, who at Elrohir's knock bade them enter.

"Ada," Elrohir announced as they approached the Elf lord where he sat at his desk, "Anomen has caught some sort of dreadful mannish disease. I think," he added cheerfully, "that he is dying."

Elrond raised his eyebrows a little at Elrohir's flippant manner of speaking, but he knew that his oldest son would not have been so cavalier had he truly believed that his foster brother was in any danger.

"Let me look at you," Elrond said to Anomen, holding out his arms to the elfling. Anomen chose that moment to relinquish the rest of his breakfast. "Indigestion, I see," Elrond said calmly. He reached for a cloth, poured a little water at it, and daubed first at Anomen's face and then at his own robe. "Elladan and Elrohir," he said to the twins as he daubed, "please go to the Cook and ask him if he has ginger ale or root beer. I think ginger ale would be best, but either tonic would do Anomen some good."

"I think my stomach hurts a little, too," Elrohir said quickly.

"If the Cook has both tonics in his cupboard," replied Elrond, smiling a little, "then Anomen may have the ginger ale and you and Elladan may share a little of the root beer."

Elladan and Elrohir hastened to the kitchen, where the Cook told them that he did indeed have both tonics on hand. He looked skeptical when Elrohir assured him that they were to be given both a bottle of ginger ale and a bottle of root beer, but Elladan persuaded him that they were telling the truth. "Anomen is sick," he told the Cook, "and Ada says he is to have ginger ale. Elrohir asked if we could have a tonic as well, and Ada said we might as long as Anomen did not have to go without."

At the mention of Anomen, the Cook's grim expression vanished, and he promptly produced the required articles. Elladan and Elrohir hurried back to their father's chamber to deliver the ginger ale and then raced to the garden to sample the coveted root beer.

The ginger ale took away the foul taste in Anomen's mouth. It also, however, made him burp. Anomen looked apologetically at Elrond. "My pardon, Ada," he said meekly.

Elrond smiled. "No pardon necessary," he said. "I am sure burping makes your stomach feel better. That is one reason for giving you the ginger ale."

In the garden, Elladan and Elrohir were also burping, but they were not apologetic about it. "I wish that our Ada—urrrp—would allow us—urrrrrrrp—to drink root beer more often," belched Elrohir. "I wonder—urrp—why he does not!"

Elladan answered with a belch that affrighted a squirrel that was nearby gathering nuts. The little creature abandoned his trove and scampered up a tree, where he perched upon a tree limb and scolded the two elflings. Elladan and Elrohir ignored him, however. Passing the bottle back and forth, they took great gulps of the bubbly beverage.

Inside, Anomen behaved more moderately, taking tiny sips from his mug, which had only been partially filled to begin with, and with his hand politely muffling his burps. As he began to feel better, he was curious to know why he had fallen ill.

"Have I the same disease as Estel?" he asked.

"No, I do not think so," replied Elrond. "Estel suffers from what Men call the 'flu'. He has a high fever, his muscles ache, and he has a bad cough. You, however, have merely eaten something that disagreed with you. At breakfast, did you eat any foods to which you are unaccustomed?"

"Yes," Anomen said. "I ate one of the sausages that the human traders brought from Breeland. It was very savory," he added.

"Ah, now you see why I disapprove of the eating of pork," said Elrond. "I warrant that there was something about that sausage that was not quite right. Your body is trying to protect you from it by getting rid of the sausage as expeditiously as possible—and the fastest way to get rid of it is to send it back the way it came."

"Lord Glorfindel ate some of the sausage as well. We encountered him in the hallway only a little while ago, and he seemed well."

"Grown Elves are not as susceptible as elflings to bodily ailments. You do know that elflings will suffer from the cold when adult Elves would not."

"Yes, that is so," Anomen said somberly. He shivered a little as he remembered how cold he had been before Mithrandir found him lost in the woods of Imladris.

"This case is similar," Elrond continued. "Tainted meat that would turn an elfling's stomach will have no effect upon an Elf such as Glorfindel. Moreover, as a warrior, over the centuries he has had to eat offal much worse than bad sausage. When one is constrained by need, one will eat the dodgiest morsels. I myself have eaten snails."

"Snails!"

"Aye, snails. Some Men think them a delicacy, but we Elves know a snail to be nothing more than a slug in a shell. This case proves the saying that there is no accounting for taste."

Anomen shuddered as he imagined a slug uncoiling itself from a snail shell. Suddenly he retched.

"Perhaps," Elrond said quickly, "we ought not to talk of matters gastronomical. What lesson were you working on when you fell ill?"

"Westron grammar," grimaced Anomen, who looked as if that subject disgusted him as well.

"It is good to know the languages of Men," Elrond said gently, "for you will have dealings with them."

"Not all Elves go amongst Men," Anomen argued.

"True, but you are one who will, I think. You, Anomen, are no common Elf."

Anomen looked uneasy. Why had Elrond said that? What did he know or guess about the elfling's parentage? Elrond said no more on the subject, however, but merely poured a little more ginger ale into Anomen's cup. "Are you feeling better?" he asked.

"Yes, Ada. Much better."

"Perhaps you could eat some toast?"

"I believe I could, Ada."

After eating the toast and finishing his portion of ginger ale, Anomen declared that he felt well enough to attend weapons training that afternoon. "Very well," Elrond said. "You may seek out your brothers and accompany them to the training field."

Apparently too much tonic could upset a stomach as badly as dodgy sausage. Anomen found the twins still in the garden, where they lay groaning on the grass. Beside them, on its side, was the empty bottle of root beer. 'It was very foolish of them to drink the entire bottle', Anomen thought to himself. He did not utter this thought aloud, however, for it was obvious that Elladan and Elrohir had been sufficiently punished. It would have been cruel to 'rub it in' by commenting upon their greediness. Instead, he helped them to their feet, and groaning and belching, they followed him to the training field.

A week later Anomen was passing by the kitchen when the Cook spied him from the window and came to the door. "Come in here," commanded the Cook. Anomen entered the hitchen timidly, but relaxed when the Cook held out a mug of ginger ale. "You have lately tasted this tonic, so doubtless you can tell me whether this batch is comparable to the last," said the Cook.

Anomen sipped at the beverage and then nodded vigorously. He made to hand the mug back to the Cook. "Nay," the Elf said gruffly. "You may as well finish that cup. It would only go to waste otherwise. Speaking of waste, I have an excess of biscuits. I can't abide throwing out good food, so you had just better eat them. The ginger ale will serve to wash them down."

The Cook pointed at a trestle table where sat a plate of biscuits still warm from the oven. Anomen climbed onto a stool and fell to, alternating nibbles of shortcake biscuits with sips of ginger ale while the Cook busied himself about the kitchen.

By the by, a shadow darkened the door of the kitchen. Elf and elfling looked up. Two Men stood in the door, one very tall, the other very stout. Each carried a pack. The Cook put down his ladle. "Well, Masters, you have returned. What provisions have you brought this time?"

"More sausages," replied the tall Man.

The Cook pursed his lips before speaking. "I may buy no more of your sausages," he said.

"Why not?" demanded the stout Man.

"My Lord has commanded it. He has never been fond of pork, so I reckon that is the reason."

"Then we have come all this way for nothing," the stout Man complained.

"Perhaps," suggested the Cook, "you have other wares I might purchase."

The tall Man shook his head. "We deal only in sausage."

"I am sorry that is the case. Peradventure you may find other purchasers for your sausage." The Cook picked up his ladle to signal that the matter was closed. Grumbling, the two Men departed the door. Through the window, Anomen watched them disappear into a nearby copse. Then he dismissed them from his mind and returned his attention to his plate of biscuits and mug of ginger ale. He savored each nibble and sip.

A half hour later, Anomen climbed down from the stool and bade the Cook farewell. The older Elf nodded approvingly at the empty mug and plate. "I shall have to keep you in mind whenever I have biscuits in danger of going stale," he observed. "I hope you will not mind doing your duty."

Anomen earnestly assured him that he would not. Humming happily, he scampered from the kitchen and began to pass by the stand of trees into which the Men had disappeared. Suddenly, he was seized and yanked within the copse. A large, hairy hand was clamped over his mouth, and as he struggled futilely, his hands were bound in front of him at the wrist. Then the hand was removed from his mouth, only to be replaced at once by a gag. "No money for sausages, but our journey will not go unrewarded," a voice hissed. The bonds and gag secure, Anomen was spun about and found himself confronting the two human traders.

"I've a good mind to turn you into sausage," threatened the tall Man, "but I reckon you'll be more useful with your skin intact. Don't give me no trouble, though, or I may change my mind."

Anomen was spun about again and shoved forward so hard that he nearly fell. The tall Man took the lead and the stout Man followed, striking Anomen in the back whenever the elfling did not march fast enough to suit him. In this fashion they walked for several hours until the stout Man declared that he was hungry and thirsty. The next stream they came to, the Men slung off their packs. The tall Man built a fire while the stout Man drew from his pack some sausages, which he speared upon sticks. The two Men sat by the fire grilling their supper. As for Anomen, they removed his gag and allowed him to slake his thirst, but they offered him nothing to eat. He sat a little apart, watching them gorge themselves. The Men ate sloppily, dropping bits of sausage and wiping their greasy fingers upon their leggings. The tall Man carelessly waved one of the sticks about, and an entire sausage slipped from it and fell to the ground. The Man paid it no heed, reaching into the pack and pulling out another sausage that he speared upon the stick.

Anomen stared hard at the sausage. The two Men were of course talking in the Common Speech, the language in which they had parleyed with the Cook. Anomen decided it was now time to put his training in the language to the test.

"May I have that sausage?" Anomen said in passable Westron.

The Men laughed. "He's not picky," guffawed the stout one.

"That's good," sneered the other Man. "He'll be cheap to feed." He kicked the sausage toward Anomen. "Very well, elf brat. You may have that sausage."

Suppressing his disgust, Anomen picked up the sausage with his still-bound hands and forced himself to eat it. Amused, the two Men tossed broken bits of sausage his way, and he forced himself to eat those as well. If there had been any snails thereabouts, he would have eaten them, too. (He would have drawn the line at slugs, however.)

When the Men had satisfied their appetite, they shouldered their packs and yanked Anomen to his feet. They had only marched a short distance, however, when Anomen suddenly groaned and bent double.

"I'm sick," moaned Anomen.

"Nonsense," said the tall Man. "You cannot be sick."

"But, Master, I really, truly am sick."

"Impossible! Now stop malingering and move!"

Groaning, Anomen straightened himself a little and staggered on. He had scarcely taken ten steps, however, before he began to retch violently. The tall Man recoiled, uneasy now. "He _can't_ be sick," he exclaimed, anxious to deny the evidence of his own eyes. "He's an Elf!"

At these words, Anomen fell upon his hands and knees and vomited forth fragments of sausage.

"What do you mean, he can't be sick?" stammered the other Man. "'Tis plain he is!"

"Must be a dreadful disease what strikes an Elf ill," worried the tall Man.

The two humans exchanged frightened glances and as one began to back away from the elfling.

"Oh pray do not leave me," cried Anomen, pretending to be frightened. "I do not wish to die alone!" Then he retched once more.

At that, the two Men turned tail and fled. As soon as Anomen no longer heard them crashing through the brush, he clambered to his feet and began to stagger back toward Rivendell. Every few hundred feet he doubled over and retched, but he knew what ailed him and was not alarmed at his infirmity. Each time he came to a stream, he drank a little. In the damp soil beside one stream he found a patch of water mint. Nearby grew spearmint. 'There ought to be some peppermint hereabouts', he said to himself, for everyone knew that peppermint was a cross between the other two plants. As he had expected, after a short search he found the desired herb. Stripping a plant of its leaves, he balled them up and tucked them into his cheek. As he sucked on the leaves, the peppermint oil began to have the desired effect. He still felt a little queasy, but he was at last able to turn his attention from his stomach to other matters. He had been making do with his hands bound before him at the wrists. Now he began to look about for a way to cut through the offending rope. At last he came across a boulder with an edge recently fractured by frost. Anomen briskly rubbed his bound wrists against this sharp edge, fraying one loop of the rope until at last it broke. Well-pleased with himself, the elfling unwound the cord from his wrists. They were red and chafed, but like his stomach, they would recover. Anomen began to run toward Rivendell.

He had not gone very far before he heard the jingle of bells like onto those that Elves fastened on the headstalls of their steeds during times of peace. Anomen ran toward the sound and leaped out from behind a tree into the path of the horses bearing Glorfindel and Elrond. The two Elves did not seem surprised to see the elfling. They had in fact been searching for him, for his absence had been noticed, and Glorfindel had found his tracks in company with those of the human traders.

Elrond dismounted his stallion and held out his arms. Fortunately, Anomen had by now gotten rid of all the sausage, so he deposited only his own arms upon Elrond's tunic. "You are unharmed?" said Elrond. Anomen showed him his wrists and quickly explained that he had gotten ill on purpose. "But the red is beginning to fade from my wrists, and my stomach already feels better," he concluded.

"You are a clever lad," Elrond said approvingly. He lifted Anomen onto his horse and then mounted himself. "Glorfindel," he said, "I will take Anomen back to the Hall. Will you see to the traders?"

"Most willingly," Glorfindel said, his face stern. Anomen suspected that the traders would be sicker than ever _he_ had been before the balrog slayer was through with them.

Several hours later Glorfindel returned to the Hall. Anomen was asleep, having once again been dosed with ginger ale. Glorfindel looked in on him to reassure himself that the elfling was safely abed and unharmed in the main. Then the balrog slayer betook himself to Elrond's chamber to report on the success of his mission.

"You have found the humans and dealt with them?" said Elrond as he handed the elf lord a glass of wine.

"Yes, although the penalty I exacted was mild in comparison with the punishment that they deserved. If I had dealt with them as I wished, they should now be stuffed into their own casings," Glorfindel said grimly.

Elrond canted an eyebrow. "It was a crime of opportunity sparked by the humans' resentment at their wares having been refused. Hardly the sort of thing that would have required you to make mincemeat of the malefactors."

"That would have been little consolation to Anomen if they had succeeded in selling him to the Southrons," retorted Glorfindel. Then the warrior's expression softened. "Of course," he went on, "as always our Anomen was too quick-witted for his foes." Elrond smiled at the pride and affection that were evident both in Glorfindel's face and in his voice.

"So, my friend," he asked, "since you did not turn the Men into sausages, what penalty _did_ you exact?"

Glorfindel smirked. "I stood over them and forced them to eat sausages until they were sicker than ever Anomen was."

"A fitting fate," pronounced Elrond. "As Men say, they were hoist on their own petard."

It was a long time before sausage was again served at Elrond's table. However, the lord of Rivendell was a considerate host, and when in later years his household was visited by Dwarves, he bade the Cook serve them sausage. However, Anomen—or Legolas, as he was then revealed to be—never again ate spiced chopped meat in casings, and it is said that his antipathy toward Dwarves in part arose from his disgust at the fact that they would devour this item so avidly. At last, though, he had to abandon this particular prejudice because he discovered that Hobbits, too, were fond of sausage. Try as he might, he could not be so hypocritical as to condemn a Dwarf for eating sausage when he would not fault a Perian for doing the same.

Those days were still far in the future, however. On this night, Anomen muttered in discomfort as he dreamt of linked casings marching across a field of fried eggs. No doubt these pork warriors were not as daunting to the imagination as equally greasy Orc warriors would have been. Still, at that moment, to Anomen the difference seemed slight, and had the elfling been forced to chose between foes, he might have opted to skewer an Orc rather than a sausage!


	8. Chapter 8: Samhain

**Thanks to the following reviewers:**_** Joee1, leralonde, Lady Ambreanna, Foxgurl0000, vectis, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**Episode 8: Samhain**

Anomen studied the board intently. Elrohir's warriors hemmed in his farmers. If Anomen couldn't free at least one cultivator, he would be forced to declare famine and cede his kingdom. He reached toward one of his farmers, paused, then reached toward another. His hand hovered above the piece.

Elladan was looking on. "If you do not move soon," he teased, "we will still be sitting here at the end of the Third Age."

Anomen shrugged and hastily moved one farmer out of the reach of the warrior who threatened it.

"Hah!" gloated Elrohir. He moved another warrior and captured the farmer. For a moment Anomen kept his face impassive. Then a slight grin flickered across his face, and he moved his wizard to capture Elrohir's king. "Hah," he deadpanned.

"Well played, Anomen," exclaimed Elladan.

"Yes," Elrohir agreed, for once not grudging in his praise. "I see now that you succeeded in blinding me to the danger creeping upon my flank. I was so anxious to gain a short-term advantage that I lost sight of my overall strategy. Will you play another game so that I may redeem myself?"

Anomen shook his head. "Lindir returned this morning from Breeland. Tonight in the Hall of Fire he is sure to tell tales of his journey. Let us go and hear them."

"Oh yes," exclaimed Elladan. "The Breelanders are so droll—especially the Periannath."

Elrohir, too, liked to listen to stories of the humans and Hobbits of Breeland, and the three elflings hurried to the Hall of Fire, where they found seats close to Lindir, who had already begun to regale the assembled Elves with his stories.

"The folk of Breeland are preparing to celebrate a festival that they call Samhain," he was saying. "They are gathering wood for bonfires into which they will throw animal bones. It is a custom I do not understand!"

"Some tribes of Men offer sacrifices to their gods," Erestor pointed out.

"What would a god do with burnt bones?" Lindir said skeptically.

"Perhaps the bones are a symbol of sacrifice."

"It is no sacrifice at all to let a symbol stand in for the object," retorted Lindir. "Now, if the humans were to offer an animal entire, _that_ would be a sacrifice. They would have given up something of value. Instead, they feast upon their pigs and goats and sheep and then throw the bones into the bonfire."

Erestor tried again. "Perhaps the custom serves as a reminder of what Men owe their gods."

"If a Man owed me a sum," Lindir replied, "I should not be satisfied if he told me that he _remembered_ what he owed. I should want to be repaid!"

"I have heard it said," Elrond observed, "that the bonfires are meant to ward off evil. If that is so, perhaps the burning of bones symbolizes the overcoming of evil or the defeat of death, which Men fear greatly. Although," he continued, "it may simply be that this mannish custom is inexplicable, as is so much of human behavior. Lindir, there are other strange customs associated with this Samhain celebration, are there not?"

"Oh yes! They hollow out turnips and rutabagas and carve frightening faces upon them. The night of Samhain they place small candles within these hollowed-out roots and carry them about or place them around their dwellings. The glowing faces are supposed to frighten off the spirits who walk abroad that night."

"Why would the spirits walk about?" Anomen asked. "Do they not dwell within the Halls of Waiting, where they are content and well entertained?"

"Apparently human spirits are not as well accommodated as elven ones," Lindir replied. "If they are deprived of bodies, they take up residence within hills. It is no wonder that they walk abroad if given the opportunity, for such an abode, where the light does not penetrate, could not be a pleasing one."

The assembled Elves murmured assent. Surely only a dwarfish spirit would be content to dwell within the earth—assuming that Dwarfs had spirits, of course, which not all elves were ready to concede.

"The humans," Lindir went on, "also try to ward off spirits by donning masks. Some Men say the masks are meant to frighten the spirits; others say that the masks fool the spirits into thinking that the humans are ghosts, ghouls, or goblins and therefore not subject to attack. Thus disguised, children troop from house to house, at each threshold demanding a tribute of treats, and for their guising they are rewarded with fruits, nuts, and sweets. It is an odd scene—ghouls picking the meat from walnuts and goblins munching upon taffy apples!"

The elflings shivered with delight at the prospect. Taffy apples! It was a treat they were not often allowed. 'Why should you wish to coat perfectly good apples with that sticky stuff', Erestor would huff whenever the Cook indulged the elflings. First they would dip apples speared on sticks into a pot of boiling syrup; then they would roll the apples in a plate of crushed nuts. "It is a wonder your teeth aren't pulled out," Erestor would grumble as the elflings gnawed at the apples once the coating had cooled and hardened.

"After the children have finished begging for treats," Lindir was saying, "they return to their homes, where the festivities continue until dawn. The humans toss apples into tubs of water, and the children take turns trying to catch the bobbing apples using only their teeth."

"Unsanitary practice," muttered Erestor, wrinkling up his face.

"In some of the apples," Lindir went on, ignoring Erestor, "coins are hidden."

"Another unsanitary custom," grumbled Erestor.

"They also bake coins and other objects into the fruit cake that they call barmbrack. The humans claim that one's fortune may be foretold by the object that one finds within the cake. If a Man finds a ring, then he will marry during the coming year. If he finds a pea, however, he will not. If he finds a tiny stick of wood, he will be unhappy in marriage."

"Why would a stick of wood signify an unhappy marriage?" asked Anomen.

"I can answer that," interjected Erestor. "Humans believe that a husband has the right to flog his wife should she displease him. Hence the stick signifies the cane wielded by the angry husband."

A chorus of disbelief arose, but the tumult was silenced by Elrond. "Erestor is correct. A human husband may beat his wife. Moreover, humans believe that children may be similarly chastised. Such practices are not censured but rather praised."

There was much mumbling and shaking of heads before Lindir resumed his tale.

"A Man may find a tiny scrap of cloth in his barmbrack. If he does, he shall not prosper that year, for the cloth signifies the rags of a poor person. If, however, he finds a coin, he shall do well in all his endeavors for the space of a twelve-month."

"When they are done eating the barmbrack, they eat scones slathered with treacle. These, like the dunking apples, must be devoured without hands. The scones will be hung by strings, and it is an amusing sight to see the sticky-faced humans trying to keep hold of the gyrating pastries with only their teeth."

"Perhaps," smiled Elrond, "it is a good thing that the humans must attempt to devour their apples and scones in such an ineffectual manner. If they should succeed in eating all the treats proffered that night, they would be very sick on the morrow."

"Then I am sure you wouldn't mind our trying, Ada," Elrohir said quickly, "for, as you say, we shouldn't be sick afterward."

Glorfindel laughed. "Now then, Elrond, how shall you deny your son when his appeal is so well reasoned?"

Elrond canted an eyebrow at his friend, but he smiled, too. He turned to Elrohir. "What do you propose, Elrohir?"

"Samhain, Ada," Elrohir said eagerly. "Let us celebrate Samhain."

"I suppose it would do not harm," Elrond said thoughtfully. "There shall be no slaughtering of animals, however, and no bones thrown into bonfires."

"Oh no, Ada," Elrohir agreed hastily. "But may we mask and beg treats? May we bob for apples and eat scones suspended upon strings? May we ask the Cook to bake tokens into fruit cakes?"

"Yes, you may do all those things," said Elrond.

"I have only told them of the treats," said Lindir, grinning. "Shall I tell them of the tricks, Lord Elrond?"

"No, you shall not," Elrond said firmly. "The treats will suffice."

The elflings exchanged glances and silently agreed to tackle Lindir later on the subject of 'tricks'. For now, however, it was enough that they be allowed to mask and beg and bob for apples. They asked leave to go to the kitchen, and when it was granted they barely managed to contain themselves long enough to exit the Hall of Fire. Once outside, they broke into a run and pelted toward the kitchen. "Stop!" Elladan cried when they were nearly there. "Elrohir, you and I had better not go inside. It is likely that the Cook has not yet forgiven us for stealing that pie se'en night past. Anomen alone should go within, for he has not stolen anything lately."

"Anomen has not recently stolen anything that the Cook _knows of_," corrected a grinning Elrohir.

"Right. But that's the point. The Cook is not angry at Anomen; he _is_ angry at us."

Elrohir conceded the point, and the twins took up position behind a bush to watch how Anomen got on. The younger elfling knocked on the doorframe, and a few minutes later the Cook stood looming above him. In his hand the Cook brandished a ladle, which was his favorite instrument for intimidating would-be pastry thieves.

"Well?" he growled. "Is there some reason you interrupt my baking?"

"Master Cook, I have heard tell that your scones are very good."

"Everything I prepare is at the very least 'good'," retorted the Cook.

"Indeed, I should have said that your scones are excellent—as is your fruit cake."

"Are you going somewhere with this conversation, or are you merely giving your tongue an airing?"

"Lindir was speaking of the scones and fruit cakes baked by the Men of Breeland. I suppose yours are as excellent as theirs."

"You suppose? You _suppose_! What, must I prove to you that my pastries equal—nay, surpass!—those of Men?"

"We-ell," Anomen said thoughtfully, "I have heard it said that the 'proof is in the pudding'. Could it not be said that the proof is in the scone—or in the fruit cake, as the case may be."

"You will see. I shall match Men scone for scone, cake for cake," vowed the Cook. "How many pastries do you reckon it will it take to prove the case?"

Anomen considered. "I believe," he said at last, "that a dozen scones and two fruit cakes would suffice."

"As for the scones, I shall provide a baker's dozen," the Cook proclaimed, "and not two but three fruit cakes. The evidence of my expertise will be irrefutable."

"My brothers and I must be the judge of that," Anomen said solemnly.

"Those scamps! How may I be certain that they shall judge fairly?"

"If they like the scones and the fruit cake, I do not think they will be able to pretend otherwise. They have never been able to do so in the past!"

The Cook paused and then began to laugh heartily. "I must concede that in the past they have indeed shown their liking for my pastries—by stealing them!"

Anomen grinned and turned to go. "Wait a bit," called the Cook. He vanished into the kitchen and reappeared a minute later with a handful of biscuits. "If you and your brothers are to judge my pastry properly, you had better practice distinguishing the good from the better," he said.

"A training regimen," said Anomen knowingly.

"Aye, a training regimen." The Cook winked and handed Anomen the biscuits. Still grinning, the elfling scampered off to rejoin the twins. Impressed by Anomen's success, they emerged from behind the bush and gladly accepted the biscuits he doled out.

"I wonder," said Elrohir, brushing the crumbs from his tunic, "why the Cook will give Anomen biscuits when Elladan and I only receive scoldings at his hand."

"Because we steal pastries," Elladan replied promptly.

"Anomen steals pastries, too."

"Yes," said Elladan, "but as you said earlier, the Cook never catches him."

"But he must know that Anomen steals them," argued Elrohir. "If he spies Anomen near the kitchen and afterward realizes that he is missing pastries, then it is plain that Anomen stole them."

"That is no proof that I stole them," Anomen pointed out. "Erestor would say that the circumstances were suggestive but not conclusive."

"He would consider the matter certain if it were Elladan and I lurking about," grumbled Elrohir. "Anyway, you forgot to tell the Cook that he must bake tokens within the fruit cake."

"No I didn't," Anomen replied jauntily. "We must first gather the tokens. Then I will bring them to the kitchen early tomorrow—and be given more biscuits!"

That prospect mollified Elrohir, and the elflings set about collecting tokens. Once they were satisfied with their trove, they set about devising masks for guising.

"You should dress as a Dwarf," Elrohir slyly told Anomen.

"I will not!" protested Anomen, whose antipathy to Dwarfs was well known.

"Well, _I_ shall be a Troll," announced Elladan.

"And I an Orc," Anomen said quickly. "Elrohir, _you_ must be the Dwarf."

"I don't mind," Elrohir said cheerfully. "As long as no one tries to toss me," he added hastily.

The three gathered paint and scraps of cloth and fur and spent the rest of the day cutting and sewing, painting and pasting. The resulting masks they carried to Elrond, who pronounced them terrifying. Arwen was with him, and the little elfling pouted.

"I want a mask, too," she cried. "I want one just like Anomen's."

The older elflings exchanged bemused glances. Arwen an Orc? The infant elleth would not be dissuaded, however, and at last Anomen took her in hand and patiently helped her to devise her own mask. Moreover, he promised that morrow eve he would take her begging for treats.

The next morning, Anomen, Elrohir, and Elladan brought their tokens to the Cook and asked him to bake them into the fruit cakes. As Anomen had predicted, the Elf gave them biscuits. To their delight, he also invited them into the kitchen. "I have heard that this celebration requires the preparation of taffy apples. Well, _I _shan't be bothered with such frippery. _You_ shall be tasked with making them."

Of course, to elflings—and to man children, too, I believe—the preparation of taffy apples is no chore. Anomen, Elrohir, and Elladan spent a pleasant morning spearing apples, dipping them in the hot syrup, and rolling them in the crushed nuts. They came away from the kitchen a little sick to their stomachs from licking the syrup from their fingers, but they soon recovered in the open air. Still, they ate little dinner and less supper, so excited they were at the prospect of begging for treats.

As soon as the fidgety elflings were permitted to leave the table, they rushed to their chamber and donned their masks as well the oddments of clothing that they judged heightened the effect of their disguises. Arwen soon joined them, and Anomen helped her with her costume. Her mask sported a fierce grin that showed off the wooden pegs that Anomen had sharpened to serve as fangs. Anomen had painted these pointy teeth a sickening yellow. For good measure he daubed red upon their tips. The bloody, yellowed fangs looked frightful jutting from the mouth of the mask. Anomen had painted equally hideous scars upon the mask itself, which only had one eyehole. The space where the second eye would have been was covered with a globular lump of clay so that it looked as if a loathsome cancer was bursting from her skull. Atop the mask he had affixed ropes unraveled to create the dreadlocks that Orcs were famous for.

After Arwen had donned the mask, Anomen helped her into an old pair of leggings and a tunic. He had ripped holes into the garments and rubbed dirt into them. For good measure, he had splashed splotches of red upon them. Lastly, Anomen rubbed dirt upon Arwen's hands and painted her nails black. Finished, he stepped back and surveyed her. "You look a fright," he declared cheerfully. "Every house we visit, the folk shall be glad to give you treats to buy you off."

Their preparations complete, the elflings ventured forth out as the sun set, delighted both to be out of doors after dusk and at the prospect of wheedling treats from the citizens of Rivendell. At every house they came to, they pounded upon the door, and when the inhabitants came to see what was the matter, the elflings pretended to menace them, growling and gesticulating. The grown-ups acted terrified and hastened to proffer treats. "Take them," they urged the elflings. "Take these in tribute and leave us in peace!"

As the elflings raced from house to house, Arwen began to tire. She trudged more and more slowly, and Anomen dropped back to keep her company. At last Elladan and Elrohir rounded a corner and were lost to sight. Anomen and Arwen did not mind, however. Hand in hand they walked, Anomen holding both his bag and Arwen's. "Oh, look," Arwen trilled, pointing toward a thicket with her free hand. "One of the grown-ups has dressed as an Orc, too."

Anomen looked in the direction that she pointed. Instantly he dropped the bags of treats, clapped his hand over Arwen's mouth, and pulled her into a coppice. "Arwen," he whispered, "it is time for a new game. Let us see whether we can slip back to the Hall as quietly as scouts."

On their hands and knees the two elflings crept through the coppice. When they reached the far side, Anomen pulled Arwen to her feet and half pulled, half carried her back to the Hall. When they reached it, Anomen entrusted Arwen to the first elleth they met and ran to Elrond's study. Tearing off his mask, he burst in without knocking. Elrond was sharing a glass of wine with Glorfindel and raised his eyebrows at the elfling's impetuous entry. Before Elrond could open his mouth to chide his foster-son, Anomen cried out, "Ada, there is an Orc lurking about!"

"I can see," Glorfindel said disapprovingly, "why these mannish customs are not embraced by Elves. Dressing up as an Orc, wandering about after dark, morbidly indulging his imagination—the lad is overexcited as a result of such japes."

"There. Is. An. Orc. Lurking. Outside," Anomen repeated emphatically. "Arwen saw it as well. If you will go with me, Lord Glorfindel, I shall show you where it was. I am sure you shall be able to find its tracks."

Anomen spoke so decidedly that both Elrond and Glorfindel sat erect, putting down their wine glasses. "Anomen," Elrond said, "did you bring Arwen back with you?"

"Yes, Ada, and she is being looked after."

"Your brothers?"

"May still be without."

"Glorfindel," said Elrond, turning to his friend, "go with Anomen to the spot where he saw the Orc. I shall look for Elladan and Elrohir."

Anomen led Glorfindel to the spot where he had dropped his and Arwen's bag. He pointed to the thicket. "It was entering the brush over there," he said. "Stay here," Glorfindel ordered him. "If any but I come out of that thicket, run for the Hall."

Anomen crouched down and watched as Glorfindel disappeared into the brush. Several long minutes passed. Suddenly Anomen heard a guttural cry. It was cut off as swiftly as it had begun. The skin between Anomen's shoulder blades began to prickle uncomfortable. He saw movement at the edge of the thicket and tensed his muscles, ready to spring to his feet and flee. Then Glorfindel stepped into the open. He was wiping the blade of his knife. Calmly he crossed to the elfling. "There are no more enemies about," he said, sheathing his knife. "Let us return to the Hall."

Subdued, Anomen picked up the two bags of treats and followed the balrog slayer back to the Hall. Before they entered it, Glorfindel laid a hand upon his shoulder and stayed him. "Say nothing of this until tomorrow, Anomen," he said gently. "The folk are excited and happy. Let them enjoy the remainder of the night before they must be reminded anew that evil beings do walk abroad in this land."

Anomen nodded. For the rest of the evening he would wear a mask, although not one constructed of cloth and fur. No, this was a mask made of discipline and strength of mind. Glorfindel and Elrond watched approvingly as Anomen smoothly joined in all the games. He bobbed for apples; he vied with Elladan and Elrohir to be the first to gobble a scone hung from a string; he joined in the dances, allowing a giggling Arwen to stand upon his feet and cling to his legs. None of the Elves but Elrond and Glorfindel knew what an effort it took for the elfling's behavior to appear so effortless.

Dawn was near and the festivities very nearly at an end when Mithrandir returned from one of his mysterious missions and joined the company. "Mae govannen, my friend," said Elrond, handing him a glass of wine. "You are just in time to join in the cutting of the fruit cakes."

"Thank you, Elrond. By the by, I trust you are aware that a dead Orc lies in a thicket hard by. His throat has been cut. Neat work, I might mention. I think I recognize the hand."

"Yes, I have heard something to that effect. Come sunrise, I shall give orders that the body be properly disposed of."

"I hope there are no more hereabouts."

"Glorfindel found signs of only one. A scout, doubtless."

"A scout who has bypassed the Bruinen that should be a barricade against such foul folk. Distressing, that."

Elrond opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted when the room filled with shouts of laughter. Erestor had found a pea in his slice of barmbrack. The tutor looked quite cheerful when he was told that it betokened that he should not marry that year. "Erestor would have been horrified had he found a ring in his cake," Elrond observed dryly.

More shouts of laughter broke out. It seemed that Anomen had been the one to find a ring. "Now we shall see the elf maidens flocking about the lad," Elrond smiled.

"Oh, I think not," Mithrandir said softly, as if speaking to himself. "That ring does not betoken marriage."

Elrond looked at the wizard quizzically. Mithrandir returned his look with an enigmatic smile. "I foresee a ring of some sort in Anomen's future, Elrond," the wizard said, "but you must not press me to say more at this time. Indeed, I cannot say more, for I do not myself understand the meaning of the words I have just uttered."

Just then Elrond noticed that Arwen had fallen asleep in a corner. For the moment dismissing Mithrandir's odd statement, Elrond stepped into the center of the room and raised his hand. The revelers fell silent. "My friends and my kinsmen," the elf-lord proclaimed. "Yonder the first light of dawn shines in at the casement. Samhain is over. The spirits who walk abroad that night have retired to their resting places, and so should we all."

Alternately giggling and yawning, Elladan, Elrohir, and Anomen staggered to their chamber and crawled into bed. Anomen fell into a deep sleep that only occasionally was disturbed by images of Orcs creeping in the dark places of the forest. And in the Hall of Revelry, forgotten, a ring gleamed in the light of the dying fire.


	9. Chapter 9: Day of Giving Thanks

**Thanks to the following reviewers:**_** Joee1, leralonde, **__**UwIllNevERn0**__**, Lady Ambreanna, Dragonsofliberty, Elfinabottle, RumorUnderOath, Foxgurl0000, vectis, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**Vocabulary**

**brethel—beech (Sindarin)**

**lalorn—elm (Sindarin; also lalf, lalven, or lalwen)**

**lebethron—finger oak (Sindarin)**

**tulus—poplar (Sindarin)**

**Episode 9: Day of Thanks Giving **

Trying to avoid the eyes of the Cook, Anomen crept along the wall until he reached an arras and slipped behind it. On the other side of the chamber, Elladan had taken up a position behind a chest in which table linens were stored, and Elrohir was nearby crouched behind Glorfindel's great chair. The room would be open to all in only a few hours, but the hubbub of preparation had enticed the elflings into creeping early into the Dining Hall. From their hiding places, the elflings watched as Elves strode back and forth carrying ewers, platters, pitchers, and tureens and as ellyth put the finishing touches upon the decorations. The tables were bestrewn with carefully chosen fall leaves, and upon the walls hung garlands of vines likewise decorated with fall foliage. A great centerpiece fashioned out of leaves, nuts, and moss adorned the center of the table. The autumn browns, reds, yellows, and oranges made the room look cozy, as did the immense fire roaring in the fireplace. It was cold outside, but inside was all comfort and plenty.

'This is going to be the grandest fall festival ever', Anomen thought excitedly to himself as he watched the musicians setting up in the corner. Truly, the harvest had given the Elves much to celebrate. The growing season had been long, for spring had come early and autumn late. Rain had been a regular visitor in early spring, tapping gently but steadily upon the newly sown fields; had politely alternated with sunshine throughout the summer; and had refrained from falling during the days of harvest. Erestor had kept records of the harvest since the founding of Imladris, down to the last bushel of grain, and he had declared that never had the ingathering been so bountiful.

As an awed Anomen watched the lighting of the tall candles reserved for festivals, a little figure appeared in the door to the Dining Hall. "Nomie," cried a tiny elleth. "Nomie!"

Anomen briefly considered ignoring the cries of the infant elleth—but only for a moment. When he had arrived at Imladris, little Arwen had instantly attached herself to him. Her love was the generous and unconditional love of the young. Since being wrenched from his nursemaid Edwen Nana, Anomen had rarely experienced affection freely offered, and when it was forthcoming, he responded with eagerness and gratitude. Elladan and Elrohir perhaps took Arwen's love for granted, but Anomen never did. When she begged him to play with her, he would abandon whatever he was doing and indulge her. Today was no different. He slipped out from behind the arras and began to make his way toward her, trying to be as inconspicuous all the while. The Cook, however, spotted him almost instantly. Swiftly he advanced upon the skittish elfling. When he reached the lad, he thrust a platter of biscuits into his surprised hands.

"These biscuits are not up to standard," he harrumphed. "See that you dispose of them."

Clutching the platter, Anomen retreated to the door, where Arwen was now dancing and cooing with delight and excitement. Anomen led her to her chamber, where they were soon joined by Elladan and Elrohir. Anomen placed the platter upon a table, and he and the others gazed reverently upon the biscuits arranged artfully upon it. Each was cut in the shape of a leaf, and most were decorated with icing of an autumn color.

"You pick first, Arwen," Anomen said when he judged that they had feasted long enough with eyes alone.

Arwen was always decisive when presented with a choice, and now she swiftly chose a biscuit shaped like the slightly toothed leaf of the brethel or beech tree. Its orange icing matched the color of her kirtle.

Elladan chose next. He picked a biscuit that resembled the triangular leaf of the tulus or poplar tree. Its icing was yellow.

After Elladan, Elrohir made his choice. He picked a biscuit with the serrated edges of a leaf of the lalorn or elm tree. Its icing was red.

Anomen chose last. His favorite tree was the lebethorn, and he picked a biscuit that looked like its leaf. This biscuit had not been iced, but it had been flavored with molasses and baked a brown that suited the autumn foliage of the proud, reserved oak.

Elrohir quickly ate his biscuit. Anomen and Elladan chewed their biscuits a little more slowly. As for Arwen, she slowly nibbled upon hers. In fact, she took so long over her biscuit that Elrohir and Elladan found excuses to decamp in search of more interesting activities than watching their sister's painstaking progress. Anomen, however, patiently kept the little elleth company until she had finished the very last crumb. He felt the time well paid when Arwen smiled happily at him.

"My fingers are sticky," she announced cheerfully.

"Aye, and your face, too!"

Anomen went to the dry sink and from the pitcher poured a little water onto a cloth. Carefully he daubed at Arwen's face and hands.

"Now you are clean again—and just in time to get sticky all over again." Anomen was correct, for the bell for the feast was summoning them. Anomen offered Arwen his hand, and the two elflings returned to the Dining Hall. Elladan and Elrohir had already taken their seats, and their father Elrond was looking expectantly at the door for the other young ones of his household. He smiled with pleasure when he saw Arwen being led into the room by Anomen.

"See how tenderly he treats her, Mithrandir," the elf-lord said softly to the wizard who sat by his side. "Arwen has been fond of Anomen from the very first day of his arrival here, and he returns her affection most happily. Do you not think that they would be well matched?"

Gandalf stifled an impatient exclamation. How many times must he and Elrond have this conversation? Elrond hoped that Anomen and Arwen would be espoused when they came of age, but Gandalf had other plans for the two of them.

"Elrond," he grumbled, "_why_ cannot you see that brother and sister must not marry?"

"And why," Elrond retorted, "can _you_ not see that in this case at least they are _not_ brother and sister. Anomen is my foster son and not my son by birth. There is no blood impediment."

"I never said that there was a blood impediment, Elrond. That is _not_ the point. Rather, the two must necessarily think of each other as siblings. They have been raised as such and thus will find the notion of marriage to be abhorrent."

"Yes, up to now they have been raised as siblings; but remember, Mithrandir, that someday Arwen will be sent away to live with her grandparents in Lothlórien. She will be gone a very long time, and when she returns, Arwen and Anomen will look upon each other with new eyes.

"You are very wise, Elrond, but in this you are mistaken. The years they have spent together as children, raised in the same household, playing together, learning together, breaking bread together, will prevent them from ever seeing themselves as other than siblings when they reach adulthood. Even if they were to be separated from this day forth, you could not change their brotherly and sisterly feelings."

Elrond looked unconvinced, and Gandalf felt sorry for the elf-lord. He knew that Elrond would have even more reason in the future to wish that Arwen and Anomen would espouse one another. The wizard looked over toward the end of the table, where a band of stern-faced Rangers quietly talked amongst themselves. They would not even spend the night, Gandalf knew. The Men had accepted the hospitality of Elrond for this one day of feasting, but they would politely excuse themselves after the meal and return to the Wild, where they would resume the patrols that protected the heedless folk of Breeland and other places. Their Chieftain was patrolling at this very moment, having declined Elrond's invitation. "I am glad for my Men to have this respite," he had written, "but I am loath to leave the folk of the North undefended even for one day."

'It is the steadfastness that one would expect of a descendant of Elros', Gandalf mused to himself. 'The lineage of the Chieftain of the Dúnedain is no less worthy than that of Elrond's children, and an alliance between the two houses would do much to restore the fortunes of the heirs of Arnor and Gondor'.

Laughter distracted the wizard from these thoughts, and he looked toward the side of the table where the elflings sat. Elladan and Elrohir were giggling over some jape. Anomen, however, was quietly cutting Arwen's portion of goose into tiny mouthfuls. Gandalf smiled fondly. No, he thought to himself, Arwen and Anomen would never espouse. To Arwen, Anomen would always be the big brother who had given her pick-a-back rides. To Anomen, Arwen would always be the little elleth for whom he had whittled dolls and tiny toy dishes. The matter having been settled to his satisfaction, the wizard turned his attention to the dishes that had been set upon the table. There were platters piled high with different kinds of bread. Loaves of barley, flat oaten cakes, rolls baked from the finest wheat, and all still warm from the oven. Upon other platters were heaped the flesh of beast and fowl—venison, beef, pheasant, and goose among them. Upon a tray by his elbow late autumn apples were arranged into a pyramid. There were also nuts aplenty—walnuts, chestnuts, and hazelnuts. Thanks to the twins, several unshelled walnuts were rolling past the wizard at that very moment, but he ignored them in favor of a plate of cheeses. Gandalf resolved to sample every one, but he had only nibbled upon three when he was distracted from this gustatory goal by the tureens of soup and bowls of vegetables that had begun parading past. Beets, onions, cabbages, carrots, green beans—had he had world enough and time, he would have tried them all. And mushrooms! Bowls and bowls of mushrooms from which redolent steam arose. Gandalf groaned. 'It is like battling Orcs in the Misty Mountains', he thought to himself. 'No sooner has one been dealt with than another pops up'. Nevertheless, the wizard soldiered on, as did his fellows. All around him, soup bowls were being drained; apple pyramids disassembled layer by layer; cheeses sliced and devoured with bread; and rolling walnuts captured, their shells cracked, and the meat picked out.

From the door the Cook looked on, satisfied. At his back stood his helpers. "This," he proclaimed to them proudly, "is our finest hour. Now go and scour the kettles!" he added.

Inside the Dining Hall, Elrond saw that his people and their guests were beginning to set down their utensils and lean back in their chairs. He arose. Folk sat up straight again. They had feasted. It was now time to reflect.

"It is customary at this time of year," Elrond began, "to give thanks for the generosity of the land that furnishes us with the food and drink that sustain us. We are grateful for this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this Middle-earth." He clasped his hands before him, as did each member of the assembly. For several moments all sat quietly, gazing thoughtfully upon the remnants of the feast before them. Then Elrond spoke again.

"We give thanks collectively, but it is also customary for each individual to offer private thanks for something that gives him particular joy." With that, Elrond resumed his seat and sat with head bowed. 'I am thankful for my children', he thought to himself. This had been his prayer of private thanks each and every year at the Feast of Giving Thanks, and he saw no reason to change it.

'I am thankful that Ada did not follow our mother to the Grey Havens', thought Elrohir and Elladan simultaneously.

At the other end of the table Erestor sat considering. 'I am thankful that the time I spend teaching is repaid by the progress of my pupils'. Unconsciously, he glanced up and smiled at Anomen, whose face was serious as he tried to choose from amongst his blessings the one that was most meaningful to him.

Glorfindel the Balrog-slayer, the Twice-born, also gazed upon Anomen. 'I am thankful to have been sent back', he thought to himself, 'else I should not have had the joy of mentoring Anomen'.

Next to Anomen, Arwen furrowed her brow like a miniature adult. 'I am glad that Anomen has come to Rivendell', she decided at last, 'because Elrohir and Elladan never want to play with me!'

'I am thankful I came to Imladris', Anomen was thinking at the very same time. He smiled contentedly. His thanksgiving encompassed Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen, Glorfindel, and Erestor. Yes, and Gandalf, too, for the wizard was often at Rivendell.

From his seat by Elrond, Gandalf had also settled upon an all-encompassing prayer. 'I am thankful', he thought, 'that I was given the task of toiling in Middle-earth. The food is good, yes, but the company is better!' Looking up, he beamed upon all the company, but he smiled upon Anomen in especial.

Soft murmuring slowly filled the hall as folk completed their private prayers and began to talk quietly amongst themselves. Plates of leaf-shaped biscuits materialized and were passed from hand to hand. The Dúnedain at length quietly arose and bade their host farewell. On her high stool, Arwen nodded, and her eyelids fluttered. "Put your arms around my neck, Arwen, and I will give you a pick-a-back ride," Anomen whispered into her ear. She leaned her sleepy head on his shoulder, and he slipped his arms under her knees. Carefully he paced to the door and slipped out, Elrond a few steps behind, for the elf-lord never failed to kiss his daughter good-night—no, nor his sons neither.

'Yes', thought Gandalf, watching them go, 'to Arwen, Anomen will always be the big brother who gave her pick-a-back rides. Arwen will choose another as husband, and the day will come when Middle-earth will have cause to offer prayers of thanksgiving for her choice'.

This year's day of thanksgiving was at an end, however, and the other one was yet far in the future. Bidding his elven hosts goodnight, Gandalf arose and retired to his bedchamber. Setting aside his hat and staff, he quickly fell asleep asleep and at once began to dream. In his reverie, he saw Anomen as an adult—young still, but garbed as a warrior and with bow and quiver strapped to his back. In the quiver was a matched set of knives that Gandalf recognized as an heirloom of the house of Elrond. Anomen was in Lothlórien, and he was caressing the smooth bark of a mallorn tree and fingering the green leaves of spring. 'Odd that he does not look altogether happy', the wizard murmured to himself. 'He looks—wistful. Hullo! Is that a Dwarf? I believe it is. Strange place for a Dwarf.' Gandalf's dream wandered on. He saw Arwen as an adult as well—beautiful and composed. Like Anomen, she was surrounded by leaves, but they were the brown leaves of autumn. They fluttered from the trees, brushing her upturned face as she watched the sun sink in the west. "Onen i-Estel Edain, u-chebin estel anim.," Gandalf heard a voice say. _I give hope to Men; I keep none for myself._

Startled, Gandalf awoke. 'Autumn brings the harvest, and for that we give thanks', he thought to himself. 'But it is also the end of summer and the prelude to winter. Always some there are who do not live to see the spring.'

The wizard lay awake for a very long time. At last he scolded himself. 'Be thankful for the _now_, you fool, for you shall not always possess it. Indeed, the now no sooner arrives that it is the past. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof—but likewise sufficient unto the day is the joy thereof. I must not think over much of what shall be lost—what I shall lose, what others shall lose'.

Firmly reminding himself that all he had to decide was what to do with the time that was given to him, Gandalf began to drift off. As he fell asleep, the image of a little human arose before him. 'Looks as grubby as a Ranger', the wizard yawned. 'And how the lad does run! Well, I reckon someday he may be grateful for those sturdy limbs. Everybody must be thankful for something'. By the by, I am thankful for this bed'.

And with that final grateful thought, Gandalf fell sound asleep. For him and for all of Imladris, the Day of Giving Thanks was over, and winter loomed.


	10. Chapter 10: The Eye

**Someone—I think it may have been CAH—suggested I write a story showing Glorfindel and Anomen's first meeting. Actually, they first met each other in the story "Dining Out," but they got off to a rough start in that tale because Anomen was caught trying to filch food from Glorfindel's breakfast tray. So I have written an episode in which they become better acquainted under more favorable circumstances.**

**When Anomen tells Glorfindel that he has raced wolves, eluded watchers, and felled foul folk, he is alluding to events in The Nameless One. When Anomen ran away from Greenwood, he had to outrun wolves who were lurking in the fringes of the forest. Crossing the plain between Greenwood and Lothlórien, he shot Orcs in a skirmish in which he became a temporary ally of a band of Dwarves. (He also knocked down a Man in Dunland when escaping from the village in which he had been imprisoned.) As for eluding watchers, he bypassed sentries when he slipped away from Lothlórien.**

**I have not yet responded to all my reviewers, but, as usual, I will catch up. For now, I would like to acknowledge the following reviewers of Episode 9:**_** Lady Ambreanna, Foxgurl0000, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**Vocabulary**

**Anor—Sun (Sindarin)**

**Celon—River (Sindarin) **

**Ethuil—Spring (Sindarin)**

**Hên—Eye (Sindarin)**

**Ithil—Moon (Sindarin)**

**Lhing—Spider web (Sindarin) **

**Lhûg—Snake (Sindarin)**

**Nínim—Snowdrop (Sindarin)**

**Episode 10: The Eye**

"Another fosterling," Glorfindel said gloomily. "Elrond, you are too soft-hearted. It seems that every waif in Eriador eventually ends up on your doorstep."

"And I have never yet regretted taking in a single one of them," Elrond replied.

"_You_ haven't," Glorfindel retorted. "But _you_ are not the one who has to track them down and rescue them when they fall into crevasses or get their feet trapped in tree crotches or slide down cliffs and get stuck on a ledge halfway down."

"You should be grateful," Elrond rejoined, "for they have provided you with occasion for practicing your skills at very little cost to yourself."

A muted knock was heard just then.

"Ah, that must be the lad," Elrond said. "I have sent for him so that you may become better acquainted. Do try to look a little less fierce, Glorfindel. If you frighten him away, you will be forced to commence elfling tracking this very afternoon—and as you have just returned from battling Orcs, I should have thought you would have wanted a few days of rest first."

Glorfindel glowered at his friend and then tried to assume a neutral expression as the door was slowly pushed open in response to Elrond's cry of 'Enter'. An elfling sidled into the room. His hair glowed golden, but his blue eyes were wary.

'If he were any skinnier', Glorfindel thought to himself, 'he would be as transparent as a window pane. Who has been looking after him, I wonder'.

The elfling was still standing by the door. Elrond smiled encouragingly at him and gestured for him to come closer. The young one took a step and then another, all the while trying to watch Glorfindel without _appearing_ to watch Glorfindel.

Glorfindel looked down at a map spread upon Elrond's table and pretended to study it. "I think," he said to Elrond, "that we should increase the frequency of patrols upon the borders of Hollin." He pointed to an area of the map. "The Dunlendings move ever south. We must put a stop to these incursions before hostilities break out between our peoples."

At the word 'Dunlendings', the elfling grimaced. 'So he is not fond of these Men', Glorfindel thought. 'I must try another tack'.

"Have you seen the newest foal, Elrond?" he tried next. "He is a feisty one with the clean lines of his sire. I do not doubt but that he will be speedy enough to outrun even the fell wolves who have lately haunted the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Today Lindir was in the stable eyeing the young stallion. I think he would like to train him to bear messengers between here and Lothlórien."

The elfling unconsciously took several steps toward his elders. Both Elves noticed, but neither let on. "I have other plans for that foal," Elrond said. "I thought he could be trained as a mount for one of the young ones."

"Elladan and Elrohir each have a horse," Glorfindel pointed out.

"True, but what about this lad here?"

Glorfindel pretended to be doubtful. "The foal is very spirited. Do you think the lad would be able to control him?"

By now the elfling was standing at Glorfindel's elbow. He stood very erect and spoke for the first time since entering the chamber.

"You Rivendell Elves fear the inhabitants of Dunland," he challenged the balrog slayer, "but I crossed that land alone and escaped many foes. If I can manage that, then I can manage a foal."

"A foal does not remain a foal," Glorfindel replied.

"And I will not remain an elfling," the lad retorted.

"Glorfindel," Elrond said gravely. "You have said that the foal is spirited, but the same could be said of this elfling."

"We shall see," Glorfindel said noncommittally. "Young one, I am Glorfindel the Twice-born, Balrog Slayer. I ride the fastest, most powerful stallion in this realm, one that has trampled Trolls and daunted dragons. It was my mount sired that foal. What makes you think that you can control the offspring of such a great steed?"

"I am Anomen," replied the lad bravely. "No Name is as great as mine. I race wolves; I elude watchers; I fell foul folk."

"Aye, and you steal the breakfasts left outside folks' doors," Glorfindel added dryly.

Anomen colored. "Oh, was that you?"

"Do not pretend innocence. You got a good look at me."

This was true. Anomen had gotten a very good look at Glorfindel, who slept naked and had come to the door to collect his breakfast clad only in what Men nowadays call a 'bed jacket'. The scantiness of this garment was the reason that Glorfindel had left off pursuing the fleeing elfling. The balrog slayer had feared losing his dignity in the course of catching a breakfast bandit.

Elrond spoke up. "I think we have established that Anomen is crafty and a quick runner. That does not mean, however, that he can manage a great horse such as this foal will grow to be. What more would be required for him to do so, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel considered. "Arm strength," he declared. "Older Elves may control a horse by voice alone, but an elfling should be able to rein in a steed, especially one that has been spooked. I should not want an elfling to be carried away by an impetuous horse."

"Does Anomen have sufficient arm strength?"

"We shall have to assay the matter," Glorfindel replied.

"And how are we to do that?"

"Archery," Glorfindel avowed. "He may demonstrate his arm strength through archery."

By now the wary expression was utterly gone from Anomen's eyes, replaced by a look of excitement.

'So the lad likes archery', Glorfindel thought to himself, pleased. Aloud, though, he spoke brusquely. "I shall expect to see you on the training field tomorrow after breakfast."

"Oh, yes, Glorfindel," Anomen assured him.

"That's _Lord_ Glorfindel," Elrond admonished him.

"Lord Glorfindel," said Anomen promptly.

'So,' the balrog slayer thought to himself, 'the lad is feisty and sharp-witted, but he can also be obedient at need, and he is willing to work hard to achieve his ends. This latest fosterling may indeed repay Elrond's trust in him'.

Elrond picked up a scroll. "Anomen, I must hear the remainder of Lord Glorfindel's report from his mission to the border."

Anomen bowed and took a step toward the door. Then he hesitated. "Lord Glorfindel, I have lately been in Dunland."

"So you have said," Glorfindel answered, suppressing a smile at the memory of Anomen's grand account of himself.

"I saw much as I traversed that land."

Elrond quirked one of his famous eyebrows. This was an unexpected development. The elf-lord hadn't been sure that Anomen would say anything at all, and now it seemed that the lad wanted to report in as if he were a scout.

Glorfindel, meanwhile, had taken a seat and gestured that Anomen should do likewise. The lad's legs dangled as he perched on a great wooden chair. Still, even though the elfling was dwarfed by the furniture, he was not daunted by the keen questioning of the weapons-master. Step by step Glorfindel led Anomen to retrace his journey through Dunland. The elfling gave a full account of everything he had learned: both what he saw from the fringes of settlements as well as the situation of the village into which he had been dragged by the hunters who had stumbled upon him. He described the drought-blasted fields, the ramshackle cottages, and the fences and outbuildings in ill repair. He told Glorfindel of the threadbare appearance of the people and the gauntness of the animals. He numbered the folk to the last child, paying particular attention to the Men of fighting age, whose weapons he described in great detail.

When Anomen was finished, Glorfindel arose and poured himself a glass of wine and then carefully measured a little wine into a second goblet into which he added water. This second goblet he handed to Anomen.

"Your throat must be dry after speaking at such length," he said gravely. The wine was so diluted that Anomen could only taste a slight fruitiness, but he had never before been offered wine of any strength. Slowly he sipped it, as he did so unconsciously swinging his feet. Glorfindel hid a smile at the sight. The lad was trying so hard to be grown-up, but he was really only a little elfling.

Elrond, too, hid a smile as he joined the two in imbibing an evening glass of wine. Once he had drained his cup, however, he and Glorfindel spoke earnestly together for a time.

"From Anomen's report," Elrond began, "it would seem that conditions in Dunland have declined—and they were never overmuch good to begin with."

"True," agreed Glorfindel. "And that would no doubt account for the fact that their hunters are entering territories that they normally avoid. _Our_ territories."

"If we could in some way relieve their suffering, then perchance they would not trespass," Elrond suggested.

"And how are we to do that without seeming to condescend? Do we ride into their settlements and offer them our charity? They may grudgingly accept our aid to preserve their children, but they would feel ashamed at their inability to take care of their own."

"No, we do not want to provoke their resentment by humiliating them," Elrond agreed. "We must offer them aid, but without seeming to do so."

"A trade pact, perhaps?"

"Aye, a trade pact."

"The problem, of course," mused Glorfindel, "is that they have so little to offer in trade. And if they had," he added wryly, "we wouldn't be having this conversation because then they would not be impoverished."

Elrond smiled wryly as well. Then he resumed.

"The Dunlendings have no foodstuffs beyond what is necessary to keep them alive. They cannot spare any goats or cows or other livestock; nor have they any cloth and leather beyond that out of which they patch together poorly fashioned garments. They have access to veins of iron, but they are not notable smiths, so the objects that they produce would find no market beyond the borders of their own land. But from Anomen's account, it would seem that there is an object that they make well and for which there would be a market."

"And what is this remarkable object?"

"Marbles."

"Marbles?"

"Aye, marbles. Tiny glass or ceramic or agate balls with which their children play a game of skill. The children draw a circle in the dirt, and they take aim at one another's marbles, each trying to knock his opponent's marbles out of the circle."

"I know what marbles are, Elrond," Glorfindel said impatiently. "I have lived a long time. Twice," he added dryly.

"Oh, indeed. In any event, from what Anomen has told us, these small toys serve as bright spots in what is an otherwise drab existence. It seems that they are glazed quite colorfully or that the stones chosen for their manufacture are of vibrant hues. Now, the raw materials out of which the marbles are made are very cheap: clay for the ceramic ones, sand for the glass, and bits of quartz for the agate. Moreover, these are materials that the Dunlendings can spare."

Glorfindel was beginning to look interested. "True," he mused. "Marbles can neither be eaten nor worn. But the market, Elrond. Where shall we find a market for marbles?"

"We shall buy some outright, for I suspect that our elflings would take to playing with them. But in the main we shall arrange to send them on to Breeland and the Shire. The folk in those parts are flourishing and well able to indulge their children. Marbles from beyond their borders would be familiar enough to be safe but foreign enough to be desirable as curiosities. They will snap up the marbles, and the money will allow the Dunlendings to purchase supplies to tide them over until the rains return to their land."

"I like this plan, and we shall be able to put it into effect rapidly, for traders from Breeland should be visiting soon," Glorfindel observed.

"Yes, and before they do, let us send a messenger to Dunland with a flag of truce to ask that marbles be brought to the border."

"A flag of truce plus an escort," Glorfindel said quickly. "Some Dunlendings are not to be trusted."

"You might have said that _many_ Dunlendings are not to be trusted," Elrond agreed sadly. "Poverty and fear make folk behave ill, as Anomen discovered."

The two Elves looked over at the elfling, who sat nodding in his chair. "How much wine did you give him?" asked Elrond softly.

"Only a little. Not enough to make him so sleepy. It is late, Elrond."

Anomen's head lolled over to the side, and his eyes glazed over. Glorfindel arose and gently lifted him into his arms.

"I shall carry him to his room, Elrond," the balrog slayer said.

Elrond quirked both eyebrows. "I thought you didn't like fosterlings," he teased his friend.

"This one has made himself useful," Glorfindel replied gruffly.

"If you say so," smiled Elrond.

"I _do_ say so. And I am Glorfindel the Twice-born, Balrog-slayer."

"In that case, it must be so. Well, do carry to his chamber Anomen the Wolf-racer, Eluder of Watchers and Feller of Foul Folk."

"That is a good name."

'But someday he will have a better', Elrond thought to himself. Aloud he said, "I shall accompany you to tuck Anomen in and to see to Elladan and Elrohir likewise."

"Good luck on that. Didn't you see the twins pass by the window? They disappeared into the garden."

"I was standing with my back to the window. Very well. I shall hunt up the twins whilst you tuck Anomen into bed—unless you would like to switch tasks."

"Hah! I think not. For once, _you_ must be the tracker."

Gloating, Glorfindel turned at once and carried Anomen from the room and to the chamber the lad shared with the twins now that Mithrandir had departed to resume his wanderings. The elf-lord gently laid the elfling upon the featherbed. With equal care, he slipped off the lad's boots before making sure he was well lapped in the duvet. Then Glorfindel the Twice-born, Balrog-slayer, hesitated.

'Kissing the elfling is part of tucking in, I believe', he said to himself. "Well, I would not have it said that Glorfindel failed in his duty'.

With that, the elf-lord bent down and kissed Anomen upon the brow. The elfling murmured and smiled in his sleep. Glorfindel smiled a little as well. Then he hastily stood erect and assumed a business-like expression. 'There now', he said briskly. 'I have done the job properly'. With that, the balrog-slayer strode from the room, making sure to glower at a surprised servant that he encountered in the hall without.

A fortnight later, a wagon driven by a Dunlending but escorted by Elves descended into the valley of Imladris. The sacks of marbles could have been conveyed in saddlebags, but the Dunlendings sent a wagon because they preferred to trade for foodstuffs rather than money. "For where shall we spend the coins," their chieftain had said, "when no one in our land possesses a surplus of goods?" Elrond was agreeable and had ordered that sacks of grain equivalent to the price agreed upon for the marbles be prepared.

Anomen hid behind a statue and watched the lading of the wagon. In spite of his brave words to Elrond and Glorfindel, he was still frightened of the Men who had threatened to sell him to Southron slavers. If the Elves lading the wagon knew of his presence, they gave no sign as they went about their business. Per Elrond's orders, the grain sacks had been fashioned to be a little larger than usual and were stuffed as full as possible. Elrond also had ordered that one extra sack of grain be placed in the wagon as if the Elves had miscounted the load. If the driver noticed the Elves' generosity, he did not speak of it. Nor had Elrond expected him to. The elf-lord's goal was to lend the Dunlendings as much aid as possible without causing them embarrassment. His plan succeeded admirably, for it was many years before conflict again broke out between the Dunlendings and the Elves of Imladris. The humans lived off the grain until the rains returned and they were able to harvest a good crop. The rains continued sufficient for many a season, and the Dunlendings thus continued content with their lot. At last, however, they began to listen to the blandishments of a honey-voiced speaker who slipped in and out of their land from a stronghold in the south of Fangorn Forest. Then it was that the Dunlendings were beguiled into mounting raids against the Elves. But for now they were glad of the grain and gave no thought to anything other than that they would survive until the next harvest.

After the Dunlending had departed with his load of grain, Anomen came forth to join Elladan and Elrohir, who had been hovering nearby. Elrond gave each a pouch filled with marbles. Soon the three were happily engaged in shooting the tiny colorful balls within a circle in the dirt. Like young ones everywhere, they assigned names to their marble. Elladan dubbed one 'Turtle' for its tortoiseshell-like pattern of green and yellow. Another Elladan called 'Ithil' or 'Moon'. Its silver color was marked with grey flecks of grey that looked like miniature craters. Anomen had one he called 'Ethuil' or 'Spring' for its golden-green color, and another he named 'Celon' or 'River' for its blue streaks. Elrohir gave the name 'Bumblebee' to one that had yellow and black stripes, and he named another 'Anor' or Sun for its sunburst pattern.

As the weeks passed, individual marbles changed hands many times, for the elflings enjoyed trading their marbles when not winning them from each other outright. Anomen came into possession of a marble Elrohir had named 'Lhûg' or 'Snake' for its scaly pattern, and Elladan became the owner of 'Lhing' or 'Spider web', named by Anomen for its pattern of fine lines. One marble alone never changed hands. It had been at the bottom of Anomen's pouch, and it bore the semblance of a lidless eye ringed in red, its pupil slitted like a snake's. Anomen called the globe 'Hên', and he disliked handling or even looking upon it. In vain he tried to trade the 'Eye' to Elladan or Elrohir, at last even offering to throw in not one but two extra marbles. The twins could not be tempted, however, and Anomen wrapped the marble in a bit of cloth so that he would not have to look upon it.

"Why don't you throw it away," Elladan asked him one day. "You could toss it in the Bruinen, or you could dig a hole and bury it."

Anomen shook his head. "I do not know why," he said somberly, "but I do not feel as if the Eye can be gotten rid of so easily. It would resurface—I am sure of it. At least I shall know where it is and that it is not getting into trouble."

Elladan raised his eyebrows, looking like a miniature Elrond, but then he returned to the game, doing his best to win one of Elrohir's marbles that he particularly admired. This was 'Nínim', named after the flower Men call the 'Snowdrop'. "Hah!" he gloated after a successful shot. Seizing the Snowdrop, he forgot about the Eye, as did Anomen.

Eventually the elflings put aside their marbles, for as they grew older, weapons training took up more and more of their time. Anomen reached the elven equivalent of adolescence and was acknowledged to be Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. Forgotten, the pouch was pushed into a corner of a wardrobe, and Legolas went off to achieve many feats of arms, the greatest of which were those performed in the course of the skirmishes and battles leading up to the destruction of the One Ring and the restoration of the combined kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor.

At the conclusion of the War of the Ring, as these battles came to be collectively known, Legolas journeyed to many places in company with his great friend Gimli son of Glóin. On one of these journeys, the two dwelled for a time in Rivendell. They stayed in the very room that had been Legolas's bedchamber, and one evening Legolas rummaged about in his old wardrobe. There in the back lay his pouch of marbles, undisturbed. He poured the contents of the pouch unto his bed and began to push them about with his fingers. Gimli drew near.

"Those are uncommonly beautiful marbles," the Dwarf observed. "Some of them are gemlike."

"Yes," agreed Legolas. He held up Nínim the Snowdrop. Elladan had won it from Elrohir, and then Legolas had won it from _him_. Legolas smiled at the memory. He showed Gimli each marble, recounting its name and history. "This one," he said, holding up a green marble and laughing, "has a particularly memorable history. Arwen swallowed it!"

Gimli made a face. "How ever did you retrieve it?"

"The nursemaid found it in her chamber pot and returned it to me."

"Ugh!"

"Well, she did wash it first!"

"What is wrapped up there?" asked Gimli, pointing at a tiny scrap of cloth that Legolas had ignored. The Elf made a face. "Oh, that is a very ugly marble. I didn't care for it. Elladan and Elrohir didn't care for it either."

"Odd, as the other marbles are so beautiful." Before Legolas could stop him, Gimli had unwrapped the Eye.

"You are quite mistaken, Legolas. This is a very pretty marble."

Surprised, Legolas took it from his friend and held it up to the light. It was indeed a beautiful marble. Instead of a lidless eye ringed in red, with its snake's pupil, Legolas now saw an eye as lovely and guileless as Arwen's.

'This is most strange', he murmured to himself. 'There is no harm in this marble—not now, anyhow. I remember that Elrond feared the power of his ring would be diminished with the destruction of the One Ring. This may be so in the end. So far, though, Vilya, the Ring of Wind, has merely been liberated from the Shadow that o'erhung it so that Elrond has been able to use it without fear. Perhaps a shadow likewise hung over this tiny globe, a magic spell like unto the enchantment laid on the Palantír that became Aragorn's after the fall of Isengard. If so, that shadow has been dispelled'.

Aloud he said, "You are right, Gimli. This marble is as beautiful as any of its fellows."

The Elf returned the marbles to their pouch. When he and Gimli departed Rivendell, he put the pouch into his saddlebag and so at length returned with it to Minas Tirith. Eldarion was a toddler then, and Legolas gave the pouch to Arwen. "For your son, when he is a little older," he said. "For we both know," he added, laughing, "that it is not good to let very little children play with marbles, for everything they grasp they put into their mouths!"

Arwen blushed a little but joined in Legolas's laughter, as did Aragorn when he was told the story. He, too, had swallowed his share of small objects, and the three reminisced about the mischief he had gotten into when he had been Eldarion's age.

It is not recorded that Eldarion ever swallowed any of the marbles. Still, he was seen to play with them. Often his father would kneel beside him and enter into a light-hearted battle for possession of the tiny globes. Whenever Legolas visited, he would join in, too. He was glad to be able to put aside his weapons and to play as if he were an elfling once more. "When he was a child, he spoke as a child," Glorfindel had said wistfully one day as he stood by Elrond watching Legolas parrying Elrohir's sword thrusts. "He understood as a child, he thought as a child; but when he became an adult, he put away childish things."

"He has put aside childish things, Glorfindel, but he is still childlike," Elrond consoled him. "He will always be childlike."

"There is a difference between being childish and being childlike?"

"Glorfindel, I am surprised that a wise Elf such as yourself would not recognize that there is a great difference between the two. To be childish is to be immature—to be self-centered and impulsive. It is tiresome to remain in the company of an adult who is childish. To be childlike, however, is to be full of joy and wonder. It is a delight to be in the company of an adult who is childlike. Now, it is true that Legolas must fulfill his responsibilities and so cannot be as carefree as formerly. Yet he continues hopeful and pure in heart. He would revert to our little Anomen in the space of a second if circumstances permitted."

Decades later, with the flick of a wrist that sent the Eye bowling into Aragorn's Turtle, Legolas proved Elrond correct. The little elfling whose brow the balrog-slayer had kissed, that little elfling had survived—had survived the horror of Moria, the fall of Gandalf, the death of Boromir, the brutal siege of Helm's Deep, the passage through the Paths of the Death, the hopeless march to the Black Gates of Mordor. In that one respect Anomen had been wrong when he declared to Glorfindel that, as the foal would not remain a foal, so he would not remain an elfling. And for that, Glorfindel—and a great many other folk—were to be eternally glad.


	11. Chapter 11: Edifice of Trust

**In her review to Episode 5 of "Elf Interludes," **_**leralonde**_** wondered how the "little dance" that Anomen and the Cook do first got started. This chapter is an attempt to answer that question. I am placing it in "Elfling Interludes" because it starts at a point when Anomen and the twins are elflings. It does conclude when Anomen is an 'adult' (although still childlike!).**

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Episode 10 ****of "Elfling Interludes":**_** Elfinabottle, leralonde, Dragonsofliberty, Ne'ith5, Lady Ambreanna, Foxgurl0000, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**The description of the mallorn tree is derived from **_**Unfinished Tales**_**.**

**Anomen's unfortunate first introduction to the Head Cook is recounted in "Dining Out."**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly is the beta reader for Parallel Quest, but shorter pieces are posted without a reader. If you catch any errors, please let me know.**

**Episode 11: Edifice of Trust**

Elrond's twin sons had been at war with the Head Cook ever since they nearly ruined a very special pastry that he had baked on the occasion of a visit by the Lady Galadriel. The Lady and her spouse, Lord Celeborn, rarely ventured from Lothlórien. For, indeed, why should they leave the place in which rested the heart of elvendom in Middle-earth? But when their daughter Celebrían gave birth to Arwen, to welcome the child they made the journey across the Misty Mountains, through the Redhorn Gate on the slope of Caradhras the Cruel, and north through Hollin, the abandoned lands of Eregion.

The Cook had known the Lady Galadriel of old, for he had been born in Lothlórien and had served his apprenticeship in her kitchen. He had joined Elrond's household when he accompanied Celebrían as part of her wedding retinue. After Celebrian departed for the Grey Havens, the Cook elected to remain in Rivendell rather than return to Lórien, for, as he said, he 'had got the flour of the place under his fingernails'. However, he still felt great affection for the Lady Galadriel, and when he learned that his former mistress would visit Rivendell, he resolved to welcome her in the way he knew best—through the baking of fine pastries. His creations were already known as the finest in the West, but he resolved to produce pastries superior even to his customary ones.

He labored long on his project, sketching fanciful shapes for his pastries and experimenting with the ingredients. Then, after much careful preparation, he mixed sufficient batter and began to roll out and cut the dough for his handiworks. Some he shaped like dragons; others were fashioned in the likeness of eagles about to take flight. Many took the form of various flowers, chiefly mallos and elanor, lissuin and niphredil. One was a recreation in dough of Eärendil's ship, with a cherry serving as the Mariner's star. Of all the Cook's creations, however, the most magnificent was his pastry sculpture of a mallorn, a tree found only in Lothlórien. He carefully sought out a beech bough that would do as a model for the upswept branches of the mallorn. This bough he covered with an almond paste dyed silver. Then to the twigs he carefully affixed numerous small, thin biscuits shaped like mallorn leaves, that is, like beech leaves, only larger. In summer mallorn leaves are pale green above and silver below, but the Cook chose to color his leaves the pale gold of the autumn mallorn leaf, for it was this color that gave the tree its name, 'golden tree'.

When it was finished, he stood his pastry model in the center of a silver platter, and around it he artfully arranged moss in which he placed some of the pastry deer. Then he stood back and gazed joyfully upon his creation, for the scene reminded him of Cerin Amroth, the grassy mound sacred to all Elves no matter the kingdom in which they dwelt. Sighing a little at his memories of that place, he turned his attention to putting the finishing touches upon the other courses to be served at the feast. Then, everything at the ready, he left the kitchen to survey the settings in the banquet hall one last time.

As soon as he had departed, the elven mice came out to play. Elladan and Elrohir had been loitering in the vicinity of the kitchen that entire day, attracted by the yeasty smell of dough rising. When they saw the Cook and his helpers depart for the banquet hall, they immediately came out from their hiding place behind the statue of Gil-galad and scampered into the kitchen, where they headed straight for the trestle table upon which the pastries were all laid out ready to be carried to the banquet hall for the dessert course. Round and round the table they circled, marveling over the clever confections.

"We are sure to have our share," Elladan said, trying to be virtuous.

"But we shall have to wait ever so long," Elrohir pointed out. "All the other courses will have to be served first. And we will have to wait until all the adults have been served. All the nicest pieces will be chosen before we are allowed to pick our pastries."

"They are _all_ nice, Elrohir, so even after they have been picked over, many tasty desserts are certain to remain."

"Right," exclaimed Elrohir, seizing upon Elladan's words. "Many tasty desserts are certain to remain because the Cook made more than enough. So if we were to eat our share now, what would be the harm?"

Elladan hesitated. Sensing that his brother's resolve was weakening, Elrohir pointed to the mallorn tree. "Look, Elladan. See how many leaves are on that tree. Surely we could nibble a leaf or two without the loss being detected!"

Elladan still hesitated. Emboldened by his brother's silence, Elrohir plucked a leaf from the tree. He broke off an edge and handed it to his brother. Slowly Elladan lifted his hand to his mouth. Once he nibbled upon the leaf, however, he forgot his fears. "That is the best biscuit I have ever eaten!" he exclaimed.

Elrohir plucked two more leaves, one for himself and one for his brother. These they eagerly devoured, and as the foliage on the tree still seemed thick, they greedily plucked several more. Each time a leaf was removed, the loss was scarcely noticeable. If one subtracts a large number all at once, the difference is immediately apparent, but remove one object at a time, and the difference is slight. So it proved in this case. Each time the twins removed a leaf, they compared the resulting number of leaves against the most recent count rather than the original number. Thus, they had almost completely denuded the tree before they realized what they had done. Suddenly Elladan compared the number of surviving leaves with the count of those that had been on the mallorn at the beginning.

"Elrohir," he exclaimed, "we have stripped this tree as surely as does a powerful wind on an autumn's day. The Cook cannot fail to notice!"

His words were confirmed at once, for through the door strode the Cook. At his appalled expression, each twin dropped the biscuit he was holding and fled toward a window. Springing onto a stool and from thence onto a table, Elrohir dove through one window. Simultaneously, Elladan jumped onto a barrel and wriggled out a second, smaller window. Behind them, unable to decide which elfling to pursue, the Cook seized a ladle and waved it futilely.

Things would have gone ill for the twins had it not been for the fact that the Cook had baked a great quantity of extra biscuit leaves. He had planned to scatter them about the table, but now he set about affixing the extra leaves in place of the ones the twins had eaten. This task occupied the Cook until it was time for the banquet to begin, so he had no time to march off to Elrond and report the twins' transgression. During the feast itself he would have no opportunity to approach the elf-lord, and immediately afterward he was too busy superintending the servants who were clearing the dishes. Moreover, his indignation was assuaged by the many compliments he received from the guests. The mallorn tree in particular was praised by one and all, leaving the Cook both gratified and relieved that he had been able to conceal the damage done by the twins. He thus ended the evening in a better frame of mind than might have been expected, and his complaints to Elrond the next day were milder than they would have otherwise been.

Still, from that time onward, the Cook would bristle whenever he saw the twins in the vicinity of the kitchen, and his suspicion of them widened to encompass Anomen when that elfling arrived upon the scene. At first it seemed that the Cook's distrust was justified, for Anomen did attempt to steal his breakfast from the kitchen shortly after he joined Elrond's household. Of course, the elfling only tried to purloin the food as a result of a misunderstanding. When Elrond had explained to the Cook how things stood with Anomen, the Cook was sorry that he had threatened to 'serve' the lad like a potato. He began to keep an eye out for the little fellow, hoping to make amends.

It seemed, however, that Anomen was being very careful to keep clear of the kitchen, and the longer he failed to put in an appearance, the more the Cook began to wish that he _would_. One day the Cook wistfully mentioned this desire to one of his underlings.

"Oh, but Master Cook, the lad has been here every day this past fortnight."

"Impossible!" exclaimed the Cook. "Nothing has been stolen."

"He has not set foot in the kitchen," the servant explained. "He sits outside, under the window, whilst the bread is baking. After the loaves are turned out of the pans, he arises and slips away, taking nothing with him but the aroma of warm bread."

The Cook was flummoxed. An elfling who loitered about whilst the bread was baked but did not try to steal any of the loaves? What would account for such odd behavior? He thought about this puzzle as he rolled out some dough and began to cut it into biscuits. Midway through his task he found that he had created several biscuits that were very ill-shaped. He was about to roll them back into the dough and try again when he suddenly paused. Grinning to himself, he slipped the misshapen biscuits into the oven with the others.

The next day, after he and his apprentices had placed pans of bread dough in the ovens, he picked up a plate upon which he had placed the malformed biscuits. He carried this plate to the window and laid it upon the sill. "These biscuits are not fit for my Lord's table," he announced loudly, "but it would be a shame for them to go to waste. I shall leave them on the sill for any small creature that may happen by."

The Cook strode away from the window, not trying to disguise his footsteps as he did so. Then he stole back toward the window and waited expectantly. After several minutes, a small hand inched its way to the plate, seized a biscuit, and withdrew. A few seconds later, the Cook heard the crunch of teeth as Anomen nibbled upon this peace offering.

From that day onward, the Cook began to turn out a remarkable number of misshaped cookies. He also suddenly seemed to have difficulty measuring out the ingredients for his various creations. As a result, he was forever baking more pies, pastries, and sweetbreads than were needed at Elrond's table. These confections had to be disposed of in some fashion, and Anomen was regularly the one assigned to accomplish the task. Elrond was once heard to say that as regards Anomen, the Cook came near to concocting as many excuses as cakes.

Many years later, when Anomen had grown up to be Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, he sat in the kitchen on one of his frequent visits to Imladris. Even then the Cook maintained the charade that he was not indulging Legolas. Legolas, for his part, maintained the pretense that he did not know that he was being indulged, for both enjoyed the game (although they fooled no one, least of all one another). On this occasion, however, the Cook at last asked Legolas to explain why he used to sit outside the kitchen window while bread was being baked.

"My father was very unhappy after the death of my mother," Legolas explained. "He did not take pleasure in music or song. He did not take pleasure in food. His cook baked only the plainest foods, and the kitchen was not filled with delightful aromas. But I remembered a time before I came to live with my father. For the first five years of my life, I dwelt with my Edwen Nana. She did not have a great kitchen such as yours, but in our simple cottage she cooked food both wholesome and tasty."

Legolas paused to take a bite of his biscuit, which he washed down with a mouthful of cider.

"I remember in particular," he continued, "how she used to bake bread. The wonderful aroma would surround me as I played. Did you know that one can be caressed by an aroma? Foolish question, I suppose. You are a Cook. Of course you must know what it is to be embraced by the smell of soup simmering and bread rising."

The Cook nodded thoughtfully and handed Legolas another biscuit—not a misshapen biscuit, either, but the finest his kitchen had to offer. It was, in fact, a mallorn biscuit like one of those that he had baked so many years before.

"I missed those odors when I was taken to live at Thranduil's Great Hall," Legolas went on, "and I was often sad. Then, when first I came here, I also often felt very woeful. Mithrandir brought me to Rivendell, and I thought he should stay with me. It was not his mission to raise an elfling, however! Shortly after our arrival, he left me in the care of your Lord. Elrond was very kind, but I missed Mithrandir straight away. It was then I took to sitting 'neath the kitchen window. The aroma of bread surrounded me as it had when I was very little, and I was comforted."

"Soup for sorrow, pie for peevishness, and bread for a broken heart," declaimed the Cook, reciting a saying known to all cooks, no matter their nation. He arose to stir a pot of stew. "You never took for granted the food I put on the table," he said when he resumed his seat. "A body who has been deprived of something appreciates its value more than someone who enjoys it without let. Now, those twin terrors, they never knew what it was to want, so they never savored their victuals to the extent that _you_ did."

The Cook arose again. He tasted the stew, added a little more pepper, and returned to his seat. "It is said," he continued, "that a craftsman is always pleased to hear his work is appreciated. Well, what is a cook but a craftsman? You appreciate my food, and I treasure the fact that you esteem the fruit of my labors."

Before Legolas had a chance to reply, a servant entered the kitchen bearing a sack of flour. At once the Cook snatched away the plate and mug that rested on the table before Legolas. "Enough of your malingering about my kitchen," he harrumphed loudly. "No doubt I should count my pies to make certain that you haven't filched one!"

Putting on a solemn expression, Legolas sprang to his feet and retreated toward the door. At his back the Cook brandished a ladle and muttered imprecations about reiving rascals.

Once outside, Legolas put his hand into his pouch. Sure enough, the passage of decades has not lessened the Cook's skill in legerdemain. Somehow he always managed to drop a biscuit into the bag. Legolas grinned. "Soup for sorrow, pie for peevishness, and bread for a broken heart," he repeated. "And," he added, "biscuits for building trust."

The Elves often said that no barricade, no matter how tall, no matter how thick, could keep a people safe if trust were not found among them. Smiling, Legolas remembered Erestor's lectures upon the subject: "Trust is an edifice stronger than any wall built of stone," the tutor would intone. 'Now I see what the Cook was about', Legolas thought to himself. 'With biscuits as his bricks and icing as his mortar, he built up my trust. Well, that structure still stands without a single chink in it!'

Just then Gimli strolled around the corner. Spotting the biscuit in Legolas's hand, he eyed it hopefully. Without a moment's hesitation, Legolas proffered it. "Soup for sorrow, pie for peevishness, and bread for a broken heart," the Elf said gaily as Gimli nibbled contentedly upon the mallorn cookie. 'And', he added to himself, 'biscuits for building trust'.


	12. Chapter 12: Weapons of Mass Destruction

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Episode 11 of "Elfling Interludes":**_** Elfinabottle, leralonde, Apsenniel, Ne'ith5, Lady Ambreanna, ziggy3, Foxgurl0000, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly is the beta reader for **_**Parallel Quest**_**, but shorter pieces are posted without a reader. If you catch any errors, please let me know.**

**Vocabulary**

**Celaimîr—'Bright Jewel', daughter of the Head Armorer**

**Lendsiniath—'Sweet Tidings', daughter of the Head Cook**

**Malthenêl—'Golden Star', niece of Glorfindel and twin of Malthenrî**

**Malthenrî—'Golden Wreath', niece of Glorfindel and twin of Malthenêl**

**Miluithand—'Kind Warrior', daughter of the warrior Berenmaethor**

**Episode 12: Weapons of Mass Destruction**

"Ooooh!" the elflings cried.

"Aaaaah!" they exclaimed.

Erestor looked over at them and grimaced. "You do know, Elrond," he complained, "that they will be either too excited or too tired to accomplish anything in the schoolroom tomorrow."

"For your sake," Elrond replied, "I hope they will be too tired. They will be easier to manage if they are."

"I suppose," grumbled Erestor, "that if they are to accomplish nothing, it would be best if they did so whilst posing the least amount of trouble to their elders."

"As that likely will be the case," said Elrond, "you may as well enjoy the fireworks."

Erestor had to concede that Elrond had a point, and he turned his attention to the excellent display of pyrotechnics that Gandalf was putting on for the inhabitants of Rivendell. Before too long, the tutor was 'oohing' and 'aahing' as loudly as any of them, for it truly was a remarkable display. Herds of horses galloped across the sky, and above their manes smoke-gray swallows darted back and forth. Iridescent fish swam lazily about in an airy ocean. Deer sprang from cloud to cloud and then stopped to graze in cottony meadows.

"I would not have thought it possible," Elrond said, "but this year's display surpasses the last. I have known Mithrandir a long time, but he is still capable of surprising me."

"I'll warrant that someday he surprises his enemies even more," Glorfindel observed thoughtfully.

"Oh, doubtless," agreed Elrond. "These fireworks displays, which we find so amusing, are but signs of a far greater power within."

Right now, though, to the Elves of Imladris—and to the elflings in particular—the fireworks were a sufficient display of the wizard's power. Gladly they watched until long after midnight, and sadly they trooped inside after one last magnificent display, during which it seemed as if a dozen shells burst simultaneously so that the sky briefly lit up as if by the dawn's early light.

"Pity that the last set of shells didn't go off as planned," Gandalf observed to Elrond as they strolled toward the Great Hall."

"Really? I thought the last set was spectacular."

"Yes, it was," Gandalf agreed cheerfully, "but one shell didn't go off. Had it done so, the display would have been even better."

"Even lacking the one shell, I fail to see how the display could have been improved. Truly, it was superlative."

"Trust me, it could have been better," Gandalf said insouciantly (humility not being one of his strong points). "After all, you yourself merely said that the display was 'spectacular'. You did not say it was '_most_ spectacular', as would have been required for the superlative."

"I was not speaking grammatically," Elrond replied. "No, you needn't mock me," he added hastily as he saw Gandalf open his mouth to reply saucily. "I do not mean that my speech was defective but merely that I was using 'superlative' in its common sense, as referring to something outstanding or exceptional."

Trailing a short distance behind, the elflings had been listening eagerly to this exchange, but not because they had any interest in the proper use of the superlative. "Did you hear what Mithrandir said about the shell?" Elrohir whispered excitedly.

"He said one didn't explode," Elladan whispered back.

"Mithrandir aimed the shells away from Rivendell," Anomen said softly. "It must have landed somewhere on the slope above us."

"It shouldn't be left lying about," Elrohir said, feigning concern. "Some animal might happen upon it."

"Mithrandir and our father will be very busy tomorrow," observed Elladan. "They won't have time to go looking for it."

"True," agreed Anomen. "I heard our Ada say that he had a manuscript to show Mithrandir. They will be in the library for hours."

"We had better find that shell ourselves, then," Elrohir concluded, "as Ada and Mithrandir will be unable to."

By now they had reached the Hall, and Elrond turned about and caught sight of the elflings. They put on their most innocent smiles, and Elrond's eyebrows shot up. Realizing that they had overdone it, the elflings tried to look more serious. This swift change in expression did nothing to allay their father's suspicions.

"I suppose," the elf-lord said dryly, "that you expect tomorrow to be a holiday."

Elrohir yawned, Elladan gaped, and Anomen stretched. Elrond's eyebrows canted at this display of weariness, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

"Very well. As you are so tired, you are excused from lessons and may remain in your room, resting quietly."

Elrond watched in amusement as the elflings struggled to hide their chagrin. "Ada," Anomen ventured, "you have always said that sunshine and breezes and forests and meadows are great restoratives. Would it not be better if we spent the day outside?"

Elrond pretended to consider. "There is something to what you say, Anomen. Nature _is_ a great restorative,"

"Refreshing," agreed Elrohir.

"Revitalizing," opined Elladan.

"Recreative," Anomen contributed.

To underscore how greatly they were in need of said refreshment, revitalization, and recreation, the elflings yawned, gaped, and stretched even more furiously.

"You had better let them spend the day outside," smiled Gandalf, who had been watching the exchange between elf-lord and elflings. "If they gape any wider, they shall swallow all the air hereabouts."

"Indeed! Outside they shall stay. On one condition," he added as the elflings began to grin.

The smirks vanished from the elflings' faces. Elrond's conditions could be very creative.

"Grown-up Elves are weary as well," Elrond continued, "and to provide Arwen's nurse with a respite, you shall mind your sister, as well as several of her little friends."

The elflings exchanged glances and reached an unspoken agreement. Better to accept their father's terms and find a means of fulfilling them whilst still achieving their original goal.

"We shall mind Arwen," Elrohir promised.

"And her little friends?"

"And her little friends," Elrohir repeated.

Anomen had a sudden inspiration. "We shall take them for a picnic," he exclaimed.

"To the spring on the slope of that mountain yonder!" cried Elladan.

"The one with the bathing pool," Elrohir said excitedly.

"Its water is the coolest to be found hereabouts," Anomen pointed out.

"Refreshing!"

"Revitalizing!"

"Recreative!"

Elrond's eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows contracted. The elflings at once grew solemn.

"We will take very good care of Arwen and her friends," Elrohir pledged.

"We will make sure that they eat an excellent lunch," avowed Elladan.

"We will even make sure that they take naps," promised Anomen.

"See that you do all these things," Elrond said sternly. With that he entered the Hall, leaving the elflings to exchange rueful glances.

The next morning, the elflings urged a sleepy Arwen out of bed. They wanted to get an early start because they knew it might take a very long time to locate the errant shell. Soon they were joined by Arwen's equally sleepy friends. They were five in number: Celaimîr, daughter of the Head Armorer; Lendsiniath, daughter of the Head Cook; Glorfindel's nieces, the twins Malthenêl and Malthenrî; and Miluithand, the daughter of the warrior Berenmaethor. With packs on their backs and hampers in their hands, Anomen, Elrohir, and Elladan began to herd the flock of little ellith up the mountainside.

It was slow going—and superlatively so. "Are we going slowly, more slowly, or most slowly?" grumbled Elrohir to Elladan and Anomen. "Oh, surely the latter," Elladan grumbled back.

"The _last_," Anomen corrected. Then he shrugged. "At least our pace allows us to look about carefully," he pointed out.

In furtherance of their search, the elflings took turns herding the ellith. Two would fan out to either side to look for signs of the shell while the third would remain with the little ones, who would stop every few yards to collect bird feathers, pretty leaves, shiny berries, and bits of quartz that had weathered out of the mountain. These latter ended up in the elflings' packs, which as a result grew heavier and heavier. By the time the elflings and their charges had reached the spring, Elladan and Elrohir's human ancestry, although slight, was betraying itself, for they were sweating; and even Anomen's face was flushed. Gladly the elflings flung down the hampers and packs. From the rucksacks they drew forth blankets, which they spread on the ground—all save one. This was Arwen's 'nana-blankie', a tiny coverlet that had been woven by her mother. This Arwen pounced upon and hugged to her chest as she sat upon a larger blanket, smiling contentedly.

Once the ellith were all seated upon the blankets, Elrohir, Elladan, and Anomen unpacked the hampers. There was bread and cheese, cold meats, apples, and slabs of pie. Beverages there were none, for there was no need—the waters of the spring were known to be excellent. The elflings filled mugs for the little ones, and they were well contented with the draughts.

After they had eaten, Anomen amused Arwen and her friends by telling them stories while Elladan and Elrohir slipped off and continued the search for the shell. After a while Elladan returned to spell Anomen. The waters from the spring pooled in a small pond, and Elladan kept watch over the ellith as they waded at its edge. He sat on the bank, dipping a stick into the water and becoming increasingly bored. He was just about to pull off his boots and join the ellith in the water when Elrohir ran up, his excitement barely contained. "Anomen has found the shell," he whispered. Aloud he announced to the ellith, "It is time for your naps."

"I don't want to take a nap," Arwen called back petulantly, her hands full of the kingcup that grew at the edge of the pond.

"Ada said that you could only come with us if you took a nap," Elrohir declared firmly. "If you will not take a nap, we must return home straightaway."

Alarmed, Arwen dropped her flowers, scrambled onto the bank, and scampered to the blankets. She flung herself upon one and pretended to sleep. Elladan and Elrohir hid their grins as Arwen's friends followed her example. Then they waited impatiently until the elliths' even breathing showed that the little ones were indeed asleep. Immediately the twins arose and slipped away. "Hurry," Elrohir whispered urgently. "We must be back before they awake." He led his brother to the spot where Anomen sat cross-legged in contemplation of a paper parcel that looked harmless but that held within a powerful magic. He looked up at Elladan and Elrohir as they approached. He looked perplexed.

"Now we have found it, what are we to do with it?" he said.

"Set it off," Elrohir said promptly.

Anomen shook his head. "The shell was attached to a rocket that carried it into the air, away from the spectators, but the rocket has expended itself. We cannot set the shell off safely."

"We could light it and run," Elladan suggested.

"Mithrandir's shells are very powerful, and this fuse has burned very short," Anomen replied. "I do not think we could run far enough."

"We could light it, throw it, and run," Elrohir argued.

Again Anomen shook his head. "I still do not think we would be far enough away to be safe. Think how the shells seem to fill the sky when they explode."

The elflings cudgeled their brains for a solution to their dilemma. The shell was too large to be affixed to an arrow and shot off, and anyway they were not carrying their bows. A trebuchet or a catapult might do, but they had neither the time nor materials to fashion one of these devices. They could protect themselves by getting into some sort of bunker, but they did not have the tools to construct one. Suddenly Anomen let out an exclamation. Elrohir and Elladan looked hopefully at him. Had he thought of a solution?

"Isn't there a ledge on the other side of the mountain, one rather near the top?" Anomen said excitedly. "One with a considerable drop beneath?"

"Yes, there is such a ledge," agreed Elrohir.

"I know what you are thinking," cried Elladan. "We shall drop the shell from the ledge. A falling object travels much further than a thrown one. When the shell explodes, it will be far beneath us."

"Aye, and the shelf shall protect us as well," Anomen pointed out. "We shall lay flat upon it and peek over the edge."

"We are also less likely to be found out if we drop it from that ledge," Elrohir grinned. "The mountain shall stand between Rivendell and the firework."

Elladan and Anomen exchanged chagrined glances. In their eagerness to find the shell, it hadn't even occurred to them that if they set it off on this side of the mountain, everyone in Rivendell would know what they were about.

The elflings jumped to their feet. With Anomen carefully holding the shell, they climbed toward the top of the mountain. Soon they had crested it and began to descend toward the shelf. Elladan was the first to reach it. He flung himself on his belly and peered over its edge—and flung himself back with a stifled cry. "What's the matter?" Elrohir called, but Elladan raised a finger to his lips. Quietly, Anomen and Elrohir stepped onto the ledge. Elrohir crept to the edge and peeked over it. "Yrch," he said softly. Elladan crept back up to the edge to lie beside his brother and nodded wordlessly. Anomen carefully laid down the shell and joined Elladan and Elrohir. One hundred feet directly below them, two-score Orcs were clustered around a campfire. As the elflings watched, they began to break camp.

"We must do something to slow them down," Anomen whispered.

"We don't have our bows," objected Elrohir, "and even if we did, what can three elflings do against so many Orcs? No, we must flee. Even if they happen upon our trail, we can outrun them."

"Yes, _we_ can outrun them. But Arwen and her friends cannot run as fast as we can. If the Orcs crest the mountain and begin to descend, they may overtake our sister and her friends. If it were only Arwen and two others, we could each carry one pick-a-back. But that is not the case! Are we to save three and abandon the others?"

This was inconceivable, and Elrohir began to panic. "How are we to delay them?" he said frantically.

Anomen looked about just as frantically, and his eyes landed upon the shell. He crawled back to it. From the pouch that hung from his waist, he pulled out flint and steel and a tiny quantity of tinder. Placing the end of the fuse in the tinder, he struck a spark that kindled the shredded bark. Soon the fuse itself caught fire, and curling like a writhing worm, it began to burn toward the shell. Quickly Anomen crawled back to the edge of the shelf and dropped the firework. It fell straight down and landed in the midst of the Orcs.

For a moment nothing happened, and the elflings feared that the fuse had sputtered out. But as the Orcs stared stupidly at the shell, it exploded. The fireball killed some of the Orcs outright, and then from the ball of fire an enormous dragon unfolded. This blazing beast began to savage the surviving goblins. Again and again it swooped among them, burning through their ranks with its fiery exhalations. When the last Orc had fallen, the dragon somersaulted and exploded, raining down green and yellow and red flecks upon the scorched earth.

Watching from the ledge, the elflings had clung together in fright and amazement. They remained clinging together until the last vaporous trace of the dragon had uncoiled and drifted away. Anomen was the first to peel himself off. He flexed his fingers, which were stiff, so tightly had he clung to his foster brothers. Beside him, Elladan rubbed at his arm, which the next day would be bruised at the spot where Elrohir had been clinging to him.

"Erestor says Orcs are like termites," Elladan said, his voice a bit shaky. "Where you see one, there are sure to be others."

"We didn't see _one_," Elrohir pointed out. "So I reckon we saw the others."

"What if there are _other_ others?" Anomen asked. "Why are we still sitting here!?"

The elflings leaped to their feet and scrambled back toward the top of the mountain. Cresting it, they ran and slid down toward the spring. "Wake up! Wake up!" they shouted as they burst out from the scrub surrounding the picnic site. Confused, Malthenêl sat up and began to cry, and Malthenrî, who shared everything with her twin, immediately joined in.

"Don't cry," wheedled Anomen. "We are going to have a race, and you won't be able to see the path if you cry."

"A race?" said Celaimîr. "Will there be a prize?"

"Biscuits," Anomen said promptly. "Lendsiniath, you must ask your father to bake biscuits as a prize."

By now the ellith were on their feet, and the elflings were herding them downhill. "Where shall we run to?" asked Miluithand**.**

"To the kitchen," exclaimed Anomen, "so Lendsiniath can ask her father to cook those biscuits!" He seized hold of Miluithand and Arwen's hands to hurry them along, and Elrohir and Elladan seized the hands of the others.

They had abandoned the blankets and hampers, but none of the ellith noticed save Arwen. "My nana-blankie," she suddenly cried. "We cannot leave my nana-blankie." She tried to pull her hand from Anomen's grasp.

"I will get it," Anomen promised, releasing both her and Miluithand. "Keep hold of Miluithand's hand, and keep running. Hurry to the kitchen!"

He turned and ran back to the spring, where he frantically rummaged through blankets and hampers until he spied the precious little coverlet. As he seized it, he heard rough voices in the scrub. Orcs had crested the mountain! Clutching the blanket, he turned and sprinted down the slope. He ran as swiftly as he had the day he had been pursued by wolves whilst running away from Greenwood.

He caught up with the others halfway down the mountain. "Elladan," he shouted, "run ahead. They are on our side of the mountain!" After Anomen, Elladan was the fastest runner of the three, and in this case he would make better time because he was fresher than the Greenwood Elf. Elladan had been holding Malthenêl and Malthenrî's hands, but now he dropped them and ran full tilt down the mountain.

Anomen had not mentioned who 'they' were for fear of panicking the ellith, and now Lendsiniath cheerfully called after Elladan, "Tell my father to light his oven!" Malthenêl and Malthenrî joined hands and began a singsong chant of "biscuits bonny biscuits." Giggling a little hysterically, Anomen seized anew Miluithand and Arwen's hands. Celaimîr, the youngest of the ellith, stumbled, and Elrohir took her up on his shoulders, with one hand holding on to her legs, with the other clutching Lendsiniath's hand.

The little band broke out from the scrub at the base of the mountain and saw horses galloping toward them. Elrohir and Anomen tried to slow down then, but by now all the ellith were singing, "biscuits bonny biscuits," and even after the warriors swept past them, making for the spring, they did not stop running until they reached the kitchen. There Lendsiniath demanded biscuits from her father, who not only produced those treats from some hidden stock but also root beer and ginger ale. These beverages were nominally medicinal, but the Cook said that they had better have some because their faces were flushed.

Later that evening, Anomen, Elrohir, and Elladan were summoned to their father's study. There they found not only Elrond but also Glorfindel and Mithrandir. All the grown-ups looked very grave. The elflings looked down at their boots.

Elrond spoke first. "You brought the ellith safely down the mountain."

The elflings looked up hopefully.

"Of course, they were only on the mountain because you wished to go there for your own reasons."

The elflings' eyes again sought out their boots.

Glorfindel spoke now. "We found Orcs at the spring. The stupid creatures had stopped to devour the remnants of your picnic and were quarreling over the blankets and packs. After we slew the Orcs, we back-tracked their trail. We came upon a scene of devastation—scorched soil and the corpses of two-score Orcs, their bodies broken and burned."

"Look up," Elrond said sternly.

Reluctantly, the elflings raised their eyes. Glorfindel was clutching something in his fist. As the elflings watched nervously, he opened his fist. In his palm lay tiny scraps of scorched paper.

"You were wrong to go in search of the shell," Elrond said, still stern. "You were wrong in using Arwen and her friends as cover for your search."

The elflings nodded wordlessly. Their faces were flushed, but now from shame.

"Am I correct," Elrond continued, "in surmising that at some point you left the ellith to their own devices?"

Elrohir forced himself to speak. "Yes, my Adar," he said miserably. "We left them napping by the spring."

"Had anyone or anything come upon them, they would have been as helpless as newly hatched titmice," Elrond said grimly.

"Yes, my Adar," Elrohir said. "Yes, my Adar," Anomen and Elladan echoed him, loath to let their brother stand alone.

Glorfindel spoke. "Yet it must be said, Lord Elrond, that when they came upon the Orcs, they acted intelligently and with great bravery. They made shrewd use of the shell, and with great cleverness they escorted the ellith down the mountain and alerted my warriors as to the nearness of our enemies. Indeed, one could argue that it was fortunate for Imladris that they were upon the mountain, no matter the reason that took them there. Had they not been, the Orcs might have drawn near to Rivendell and taken some of our folk unawares."

"The outcome was good," agreed Elrond, "but that does not change the fact that their motivation was bad."

The elflings' heads drooped.

"I would like to suggest a penalty," said Gandalf, speaking for the first time. The elflings' heads shot up, curiosity outweighing apprehension. Never before had Mithrandir suggested a punishment, but as the offense involved one of his shells, it seemed right that he should.

"I believe," continued Gandalf, "it would be fitting that for the next turning of the moon these youngsters be responsible for looking after the ellith. When they are not in the schoolroom, they must be in the company of Arwen and her friends. No archery. No riding. No swimming."

The elflings exchanged appalled glances. An entire month minding the ellith! Elrond smiled grimly as he caught sight of their expressions. "Mithrandir, my friend, you are wise, as always. Yes, that shall be their penalty."

Anomen peeked up at Elrond. "My Adar," he said tentatively.

"Yes, ion-nín."

"Arwen has only lately begun learning to swim."

"True."

"She also takes riding lessons."

"Also true."

"It would be a shame if our misbehavior should prevent her from progressing in her lessons."

"What are you suggesting, Anomen?"

"We ought to give Arwen and her friends swimming and riding lessons. But how can we do so if we cannot ourselves ride and swim?"

For some reason Gandalf seemed to be biting on his beard, and his shoulders shook spasmodically as if he had the hiccoughs. As for Glorfindel, he was examining the flecks of paper from the shell as if they would reveal some great truth.

Elrond cleared his throat. "Very well, Anomen. You and your brothers may swim and ride, but only in the company of your sister and her friends."

Anomen inclined his head. Then, emboldened, he looked up again.

"Ada?"

"Yes, my son."

"Our foes found their way to Rivendell."

"True, but they have been slain. None survive to lead others to this place."

"Yes, but if one band happened upon our land, another may do so."

"I cannot deny it."

"We had better keep our bows handy, then—just in case!"

"The watch upon this land has been strengthened, Anomen, but I agree that it would be wise for you and your brothers to be armed at all times. You may carry your weapons."

"And if we should happen to see a deer—"

"You press your luck, Anomen. Carry your bow and quiver, but only for protection."

"Yes, Ada," Anomen said quickly. He bowed deeply, as did his brothers, and they backed from the room, stopping at the door to bow once more.

The next morning, Anomen found Gandalf smoking in the garden. Timidly he approached. Gandalf put down his pipe and gestured at him to come nearer.

"Well, my son?"

"Mithrandir, your shells are dangerous."

"True—which is why you and your brothers had no business going about looking for one."

Anomen nodded, but he was not put off.

"Mithrandir, we used one as a weapon, and it worked very well."

"Indeed!"

"Since your shells can be used to slay our enemies, why do you not teach us their magic? We should destroy all our foes."

Gandalf looked troubled. "Some weapons ought not to be used," he said. "Their destructiveness makes them too dangerous."

"I do not understand, Mithrandir. Your shells are destructive, but isn't that what we want? Isn't that the point of a weapon?"

Gandalf shook his head. "_Too_ destructive, my son. A shell carves a wide swathe of death, and it slays indiscriminately. With a bow, you can bring down a foe without harming a child playing nearby, but a shell will kill whoever is unfortunate enough to be nearby when it explodes. In the wrong hands, a shell would be not a weapon of destruction, but a weapon of _mass_ destruction."

"You think our hands the wrong ones?"

"I did not say so. But if my shells were used as weapons, many would wish to know how to fashion them. Soon not only our friends but our foes would be firing shells, and the resulting destruction would be more horrible than any yet visited upon Middle-earth. Better that we should not use them rather than risk our enemies learning their secret."

Gandalf arose and walked to the edge of the garden. "I am become death, the Destroyer of worlds," he said softly as if speaking to himself.

"Mithrandir, what do those words mean?"

"They are words that I hope never to have to utter in earnest. That is why I do not share the secret of those shells. Only to Saruman, the head of my order, have I ever revealed somewhat of how I fashion them." Gandalf laughed uneasily. "I confess that sometimes I wonder whether I should have revealed even to him some of the magic behind those shells! That is how dangerous I deem them to be."

Again he laughed a little uneasily. Then he seemed to recover. "Now, Anomen," he pretended to scold, "aren't you supposed to be minding Arwen and her friends?"

"Elladan, Elrohir, and I are taking turns. I am on my way raid the kitchen to fetch biscuits to bring back to the others."

"You do know that the Cook would give you some if you asked."

"He wouldn't!" Anomen exclaimed indignantly.

"Oh, I had forgotten. Raiding the kitchen is much more fun. Well, be off with you then. Only, be sure to bring me a biscuit on your way back."

Anomen promised he would and ran off. Behind him Gandalf picked up his pipe, but he did not light it straightaway. Instead he sat musing. 'A weapon too dangerous to use', he thought to himself. 'Rather like the One Ring, should it surface. No, _when_ it surfaces—for it _will_ reappear someday. Can't use it when it does. What's to be done with it, then?'

When Anomen returned to the garden, Gandalf sat as if in a trance, the pipe cold in his hand. Softly, Anomen crept up and reached out to lay the cookie on the bench beside him. The wizard awoke with a start. "Ah, Le—Anomen, my lad, back from your quest, eh? May I send you on another?"

"Gladly," Anomen said, although he was a little taken aback at how Gandalf had addressed him. "Where shall I go, and what shall I do?"

Gandalf took the biscuit from his hand and devoured it in two bites. "Mmph, m'lad, sh'll tell you later." He crammed his pipe in his bag and sprang to his feet, suddenly lively. "Just hand me my staff and my hat, there's a good lad," he cried. Bewildered, Anomen did as he was bidden. "Now, stay out of mischief, and I shall treat you and your brothers to a fireworks display upon my return."

"Mithrandir," Anomen cried, "you have only just arrived!"

"Nonsense! I've been here a fortnight. You know very well that I am a rolling stone that gathers no moss, but if I stay any longer I shall commence to do so!"

"But where are you going, Mithrandir?" Anomen called after the wizard. "To find a weapon that must not be used," Gandalf called back over his shoulder.

'He has already got one weapon that he cannot use', Anomen thought to himself in befuddlement. 'Why should he want another one?'

And then, shrugging off Gandalf's words as yet another one of the wizard's enigmatic sayings, Anomen ran off to rejoin his friends.


	13. Chapter 13: The Bauble

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Episode 12 of "Elfling Interludes":**_** leralonde, Dragonsofliberty, JastaElf, Lady Ambreanna, ziggy3, Foxgurl0000, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly is the beta reader for **_**Parallel Quest**_**, but shorter pieces are posted without a reader. If you catch any errors, please let me know.**

**Episode 13: The Bauble**

Anomen stared out the window disconsolately. Outside, he knew, Elladan and Elrohir were playing in the garden. Anomen, however, would have to remain inside on this sunny morning. The previous day he had thrown a book at Elrohir, and an indignant Erestor had ordered him to dust every volume in the library. "And when you have finished dusting," the tutor had commanded, "you will sharpen every pen and fill every inkwell." The library at Imladris was very large, and Anomen could not hope to finish before noon. Sighing, Anomen turned away from the window. Holding a duster in one hand, with the other he dragged a stool to the beginning of a long row of bookcases. Climbing up and standing on his tiptoes, he stretched as far as he could and pulled out a book from the top shelf. After brushing the dust from the volume, he again stood on tiptoe and pushed it back into place.

Proceeding in this fashion, Anomen slowly worked his way toward the last bookcase. He was not tempted to rush because he knew Erestor would check to see how thoroughly he had done the job. If the tutor deemed his efforts to be inadequate, he would have to clean the study anew.

So carefully did Anomen clean that he had not finished his task by the time the noon bell rang. He put down the duster, hesitated, then picked it up again. 'If I work a little longer, I will be entirely finished with the dusting', he said to himself. 'I would rather have it all done than be forced to return to it after the noon meal'. He had pulled the stool to the last bookcase and had put his foot on the first rung when he heard a voice at a window. Anomen turned to see Elladan clinging to the sill. "Didn't you hear the bell ring?" the older elfling called.

"I heard it," Anomen called in reply, "I would rather finish dusting than go to lunch. Then I will only have to see to the nibs and inkwells to be free for the remainder of the day. Besides," he added a little bitterly, "if I go to the Dining Hall I will have to endure Elrohir's gloating."

"Oh no you won't," came another voice. Anomen hopped down from the stool and went to the window. Below it crouched a shamefaced Elrohir. In his hand he clutched something wrapped in leather. "Here," he said, thrusting the bundle up at a surprised Anomen. Warily, the younger elfling unwrapped it. Then he grinned. Inside were dozens of neatly sharpened quills. "Elladan and I hid in some bushes in the garden and sharpened them," Elrohir explained.

"Yes," said Elladan, "and we would have climbed in at the window and filled the inkwells for you, but we were afraid that Erestor might come into the study and catch us at it. If you will hand down the bottles, though, we will fill them after lunch and bring them back to you. Then you will have only a little more dusting to do. So put aside that duster and come to lunch!"

Cheerful now, Anomen dropped the duster and ran to the door. Pelting through it, he ran around the corner—and straight into Erestor.

"I do not know what has gotten into you lately," spluttered the tutor, rubbing his chest. "First you throw a book; now you gallop down the halls like a stampeding oliphaunt. I was just coming to check on your progress. You had better be able to demonstrate that you have been hard at work this morning."

His hand on Anomen's shoulder, Erestor steered the elfling back toward the library. Once inside, the tutor ran his hand over the tops of several books. His hand came away clean. "You seem to be doing a thorough job cleaning the shelves," Erestor admitted. "What of the quills, however?"

Anomen showed him a handful of quills. Erestor examined their tips. "These are well sharpened," the tutor said approvingly. Mollified, he gave Anomen leave to go to the noon meal. Walking cautiously now, the elfling made his way to the dining hall, where he took a seat between Elladan and Elrohir. The two looked relieved when the younger elfling appeared. "What took you so long?" whispered Elrohir. "Erestor came to check on my progress," Anomen whispered back. At a look from Elrond, the elflings sat straight with mouths closed. Whispering at the table was considered bad manners.

Talking softly, however, was not, and after a few minutes of subdued silence, the elflings began to converse quietly amongst themselves. Elrohir spoke first. "I am sorry I teased you," he said hesitantly. It was unusual for Elrohir to apologize without prompting from their father, and Anomen, whose heart was already softened by the gift of quills, forgave him—but only up to a point. "I won't say I don't mind," he said firmly. "However, I am willing to let bygones be bygones. Still," he added, "if you ever again make fun of my mother, I shall throw an inkwell at you instead of a book—and you know the quality of Erestor's ink!"

Elrohir did know. The ink was not easy to wash off and did not fade readily. If Anomen splashed him with the liquid, both Elrohir's face and his reputation would be blackened for some time. He nodded vigorously. "I promise I won't Anomen. I may tease you about something else, but I won't tease you about your mother."

As a pledge, this was not entirely satisfactory, but Anomen had to acknowledge that Elrohir was trying to make amends. So he let the matter rest, and the conversation turned to other matters. "After you have finished dusting, we should go swimming in the waterfall lake," Elladan suggested.

"Yes," agreed Elrohir. "Soon Glorfindel will return from patrolling the borders, and he will make us spend every afternoon on the training field. We will not have enough time to hike to the waterfall after weapons practice and will have to content ourselves with swimming in one of the nearer ponds."

All three elflings wrinkled their noses at the thought of swimming in such close proximity to the Hall, for their elders frequented the everyday ponds, a fact that must necessarily prevent the elflings from behaving as boisterously as they would wish.

"I shall dust as quickly as I may," Anomen vowed.

"And we have promised to fill the inkwells," Elrohir reminded him. "I am sure that shortly after lunch we will be able to set off."

The elflings ate their lunch hastily and then begged leave to be excused from the table. Elrond looked at them suspiciously. "Why so eager to be finished with the noon meal?" he asked.

"We want to go swimming, but we cannot until Anomen has finished tidying the study," Elrohir explained. The minute he spoke, Elrohir realized that he had made a mistake. Erestor had not told Elrond of what had transpired that morning. Doubtless the tutor would tell Elrond later, but what mattered now was that their father not learn the details of the incident before they had a chance to hike to the waterfall.

"Why, pray tell, must Anomen tidy the study?" inquired Elrond.

"I threw a book," Anomen said, careful not to say why or at whom he had thrown the volume.

"And for what reason did you throw a book?"

"I was angry."

"Why were you angry?"

"Because I was upset."

"Why were you upset?"

"Because I was aggravated."

"I see," Elrond said dryly, "that Erestor has made good progress in teaching you the concept of the 'synonym'. You may be sure, Anomen, that we will speak more of this matter later. For now, however, you and your brothers may be excused."

After thanking their father, the elflings retreated from the dining hall as quickly as was consistent with the elvenly gracefulness that was expected of the sons of Elrond. Once outside, they parted, Anomen returning directly to the study, the twins heading for the garden so that they might come to the study window by a circuitous path. In short order, Anomen was handing down the inkwells, a tiny funnel, and a large stoppered bottle of ink. Then, while Elrohir and Elladan hid in the garden and filled the inwells, Anomen dusted the last few shelves, carefully removing and replacing each of the books that he had not attended to earlier that day.

He was just about to replace the very last volume when he noticed a lever in the back of the bookcase. This handle had been hidden by the large tome that had stood before it. 'What an odd place for a lever', Anomen said to himself. He hesitated a moment, and then he pushed down upon it. A small aperture appeared. Within could be seen a folded piece of paper. The paper looked lumpy, as if something were wrapped within it. Again Anomen hesitated, but curiosity is the hallmark of the young. He reached in and drew out the paper. Then he hastily thrust it into his tunic as he heard a sound at the door. Quickly he closed the secret compartment and slid the last volume back into place. A few seconds later Erestor was standing over him.

"How are you getting on, Anomen?" the tutor said. His voice was kindly, and suddenly Anomen felt ashamed.

"I am very pleased at how hard you have worked this day," Erestor continued. "Not only did you clean the shelves thoroughly, but you worked conscientiously to sharpen the quills."

Now Anomen felt even worse, but he couldn't explain that he himself had not sharpened the quills without getting Elladan and Elrohir into trouble.

"I have half a mind to allow you to omit filling the inkwells," Erestor went on.

"The inkwells should not be neglected," Anomen said quickly. "Inkwells are important," he added lamely when Erestor looked at him in surprise.

"Yes, I suppose you are right," the tutor said slowly. "Of what use are pens if the wells be empty? Very well," he finished briskly. "You may see to the inkwells."

"They will be filled most carefully," Anomen promised. He was of course correct. The inkwells _would_ be filled, and carefully, too. Still, he knew that he was allowing Erestor to believe that _he_ would be the one completing the task, just as he had allowed the tutor to believe that he had been the one to sharpen the quills. The elfling continued to feel uneasy even after Erestor had left the room.

Elladan and Elrohir, however, seemed untroubled by the charade they were engaged in. No sooner had the door closed behind the tutor than they poked their heads up over the windowsill.

"That was quick thinking, Anomen," Elrohir said cheerfully. "It would be a shame if Elladan and I had to empty out these inkwells that we have filled."

"Worse than that," Elladan pointed out, "if we had had to pour out the inkwells, Erestor would wonder where the ink from the bottle had vanished to, the inkwells being empty."

"You troll-brain," Elrohir said cheerfully. "We should have emptied the inkwells back into the bottle, so we wouldn't have lost even a drop of ink. _I_ was merely thinking that we should have done all that work for nothing."

While Elladan and Elrohir chattered, Anomen silently replaced the inkwells on the desks. "Hurry up, Anomen," Elrohir called. "You needn't be so careful in placing each inkwell."

Anomen grumbled the Sindarin equivalent of 'don't get your knickers in a twist' and banged down the last inkwell. Ink splattered onto his hands as a result, and Elladan and Elrohir giggled. Anomen kept his head lowered so that they would not see his face as he rubbed at the blotches on his hands. "I will meet you by the statue of Gil-galad," he muttered. Elladan and Elrohir vanished from view, and Anomen took several minutes to compose himself before leaving the study to head toward the garden rendezvous.

Once Anomen arrived at the statue of the great elven king, the three elflings set off for the waterfall lake. Elrohir and Elladan walked side by side, still chattering happily, while Anomen lagged several paces behind. With every step he took, the folded paper in his tunic rubbed a little against his chest. Whatever the object was that was hidden within the paper, it felt as if it were burning his skin.

When the elflings arrived at the waterfall, Elladan and Elrohir quickly flung aside their clothes and dove into the lake. Anomen undressed more slowly, turning his back toward the twins so that he could slip the paper parcel out of his tunic and hide it inside his discarded clothing.

The elflings swam for several hours, until the sun was hidden within the mountains that surrounded Imladris. "It is getting late," Elladan said reluctantly. "We should return to the Hall."

Elrohir was the first to reach the shore, and he seized hold of Elladan's tunic and dangled it over the water. His twin quickly climbed out, and the two began a tug of war over the garment. Elladan finally succeeded in yanking his tunic out of his brother's hands, and Elrohir fell over backwards. Laughing, he sat up and reached for his own tunic.

Anomen, meanwhile, had quietly climbed out of the lake and pulled on his leggings. Then he reached for his tunic. The paper fell out from a fold in the garment.

"What's that?" called Elladan, who had finished dressing.

"Nothing," said Anomen, trying to thrust the parcel within his tunic.

"If it were nothing, you wouldn't be trying to hide it," Elrohir challenged. He leaped to his feet and snatched at the paper. Anomen tried to keep it out of his hands, but Elrohir was soon seconded by Elladan. After a brief tussle, Elrohir triumphantly waved the folded paper in the air. As he did so, a small object fell out. It bounced once upon the grassy margin of the lake and then, with a plop, landed in the water. Dismayed, the three elflings watched the object disappear beneath the surface of the lake.

"What was it?" Elrohir asked in a subdued voice.

Anomen looked at the crumpled paper that he still clutched. There were letters written upon it in an archaic but recognizable script. Anomen smoothed the paper. "A ring found on the body of one of Sauron's minions after the Battle of Gladden Field," he read aloud. "It is unknown whether His hand touched this ring. Therefore, let it be kept secret; let it be kept safe."

"If it was secret, how did you get it?" asked Elladan.

"I found a hidden compartment behind a book," Anomen explained, but then he blanched. He shouldn't have blurted out that information. Now it wouldn't be safe to return the ring to its hiding place.

For the moment, however, Elladan and Elrohir were exchanging uneasy glances.

"What should we do?" Elladan asked anxiously.

"We had better try to find it," Anomen replied. "The water is shallow here. If we carefully feel about the bottom, we may be able to recover it."

The elflings drove stakes into the bottom of the lake to mark out the area within which the ring was likely to have fallen. Then they began to methodically search the bottom, careful to overlap each side-to-side sweep so they did not skip over the ring's resting place.

Their methodical search at last bore fruit. Elladan's hand closed upon a small object that was both round and smooth. Withdrawing his hand from the water, he opened his fist, and upon his palm lay a ring, golden and devoid of any device.

"It is very plain," Elladan said doubtfully. "It is not what I would have expected of a ring possessed by a servant of the Dark Lord. I should have expected something more highly wrought."

"But it is pretty nonetheless," Elrohir observed. "How brightly it shines!" He tried to snatch the ring from Elladan's palm, but his twin quickly closed his hand into a fist and backed away from him.

"I want it!" cried Elrohir in frustration.

"I found it," retorted Elladan, continuing to back away and now thrusting his hand behind his back. "Ow!" he suddenly cried. Anomen had slipped behind him and seized his wrist, wresting the ring away from him. Both twins turned indignantly toward Anomen, but their anger changed to surprise in the face of the fierce look he gave them.

"You cannot have this ring, Elladan. Nor you, Elrohir," he declared. "Nor I, neither," he added, folding it back into the paper. "I am going to bring it to our father!"

With that, Anomen strode off purposefully. Elladan and Elrohir, taken aback by his demeanor, trailed worriedly after. "We are in trouble now," whispered Elladan to his twin. "Yes," Elrohir replied gloomily. "He is going to tell Ada everything, and we will be punished for tricking Erestor."

With Elladan and Elrohir in tow, Anomen quickly led the way back to the Hall and marched up to the door of Elrond's chamber. "Enter," the master of Rivendell called in response to Anomen's firm rap upon the doorframe. In response, Anomen stepped bravely into the room. Behind him, heads lowered, slunk the twins.

Elrond had been sharing a glass of wine with Mithrandir, who had only recently returned from one of his mysterious quests. Now wizard and elf lord lowered their goblets and stared keenly at the elflings. Anomen did not wait to be bidden to speak.

"Adar, while I was cleaning the shelves, I found a hidden compartment. In it was a ring wrapped in paper. I took it." He proffered the thin parcel.

Elrond accepted it from his hand and placed it upon a side table. He looked from Anomen to the cowering twins and then back to Anomen.

"Is that all you wish to say?"

"Yes, Adar," Anomen said steadfastly.

"Why did you not simply replace it? It is not likely I should have found you out."

"I thought you should know about it. It may be important."

Elrond glanced back at the twins. They were no longer studying their toes but were staring at Anomen, their mouths open, their eyes widened in surprise. Then they realized that their father was looking at them. Quickly they resumed their perusal of their feet.

In truth, Anomen had only ever intended to confess to the filching of the ring. The entire afternoon he had been cudgeling his brains over how he could confess to his earlier misbehavior in the study without 'orcing' on Elladan and Elrohir. Soon after realizing that he could not return the ring to its hiding place, he had felt a sudden relief at the fact that now he could confess to something without implicating the twins. 'No doubt', he thought to himself, 'the punishment for taking the ring will be every bit as bad as the punishment for tricking Erestor would have been'. And so, happy at the prospect of assuaging his guilty conscience, he had hurried to Elrond's chamber.

The elf lord suspected something of the sort. 'The lad wants to accept responsibility for his misdeeds, and I shall not thwart him', he thought to himself. 'As for Elladan and Elrohir, I shall catch them at something soon enough, so any mischief they have done today shall not long go unpunished'. Aloud he said, "Very well, Anomen. As you have taken an interest in this ring, you shall have rings enough. In the treasury are many silver rings that are tarnished. You shall polish them."

"Yes, Ada," Anomen said happily.

"Ada," Elrohir said, suddenly looking up. "Now Mithrandir is here, shall we not have a feast?"

"Since it has been several months since his last visit, I believe that on the morrow the Cook plans to prepare more than the usual number of courses for the evening meal," Elrond replied. "You may call that a feast, if you wish."

"At a proper feast, the tableware is finer than usual," Elrohir pointed out.

"Yes," exclaimed Elladan, now looking up as well. "And there are some very fine platters and plates and goblets in the treasury."

"Silver ones," added Elrohir.

"That need to be polished," Elladan concluded.

"I am afraid," Elrond said, carefully keeping his eyebrows under control, "that the servants will be too busy to polish those items in time for tomorrow's meal."

"May we attempt the task?" Elrohir begged.

"As a mark of respect for our guest," Elladan chimed in, his face the proverbial picture of innocence.

"Very well," agreed Elrond. "You may polish the silver dishes in the treasury."

He dismissed the elflings, who bowed low and hurried from the room. After they had departed, Elrond picked up the parcel and looked at it thoughtfully. "I shall have to find another hiding place," he mused. "At least one of my sons will be unable to refrain from probing the hidden compartment from time to time in search of this bauble."

"Instead of hiding the ring," suggested Mithrandir, who had thus far said not a word, "why do you not attempt to melt it? I should like to see you make the trial."

"What would that prove?" Elrond asked.

"Indulge me, my friend," Mithrandir answered. "After all, you have said that it is only a bauble."

"And if it is not?"

"It would be wise to know if it be something other than a bauble."

Nodding agreement, Elrond arose, and followed by Mithrandir made his way to the smithy. The goldsmith had departed to take his supper with the other artisans, but the elf lord and wizard quickly revived the banked fire. As Mithrandir worked the bellows, Elrond placed the ring in a crucible that he thrust into the midst of the fire. In a few minutes, the edges of the ring softened and began to run, and soon the gold was puddled in the bottom of the crucible. As the ring melted, relief and disappointment mingled in Mithrandir's face.

Elrond withdrew the crucible from the fire and set it aside. "Well," he said dryly, "we have destroyed a perfectly good ring."

"One that you did not dare place upon your finger," Mithrandir pointed out. "Nor permit anyone else to handle it. At least now you may put the gold to good use."

"Yes," conceded Elrond. Then he smiled, for the moment looking as mischievous as his sons. "I shall ask the goldsmith to gild a goblet that shall be set aside for your sole use. The twins will thus have one less goblet to polish the next time you visit."

"I like that," said Mithrandir. "I shall drink the health of my friends from a cup furnished me by the Dark Lord. Yes, I like that idea very much. Let us hope that we may turn more of his devices to such good account!"

As the two friends stood in the smithy bantering, Elrohir, Elladan, and Anomen were preparing for bed. After Elrohir had pulled on his nightshirt, he knelt by his bed and reached underneath to retrieve out a box in which he kept certain of his treasures. He opened it and pulled out a thin gold ring set with a small green stone. "An elf maiden gave me this," he said to Anomen. "You may have it."

"Won't she be angry if you give it away?" Anomen asked.

"Oh, she was from Lothlórien, and soon after she gave me the ring, she decided that she liked Rúmil better."

"I am sorry, Elrohir," Anomen exclaimed.

"Oh, don't be," Elrohir exclaimed airily. "I shall make many other conquests, I am sure."

The two elflings grinned at each other, for it was a fact that Elrohir was already a favorite with the ladies. Then Anomen returned to the subject of the ring.

"I shall not wear it on my hand," Anomen said, "for Glorfindel says that rings can interfere with an archer's grip. However, I shall wear it on a cord about my neck." He at once suited his words to actions, pulling a bit of twine out of his hunting kit, slipping it through the ring, and tying the cord about his neck.

The next morning, Elrond noticed the ends of the twine sticking out of Anomen's tunic. "What is that cord about your neck, Anomen?" he asked. Proudly, Anomen pulled out the ring from beneath his tunic. "A gift from Elrohir," he said happily. "I shall wear it always."

Elrond nodded. "That was generous of Elrohir." At Elrond's words, Elrohir blushed, but he also smiled a little as he looked down at his plate.

After breakfast, Elrond sent for the goldsmith. "You have no doubt noticed a crucible with an ingot of gold in the bottom," he said to the artisan.

"I have indeed, my Lord, and I wondered how it got there."

"My lord Mithrandir and I assayed a test of the metal last night. We are satisfied as to its utility. I would be pleased if you should gild a goblet with it. If there is enough," he added, "I should like you to fashion a chain as well."

"Gold is very ductile," the goldsmith said. "I should not be surprised if I were left with enough for a chain even after preparing gold leaf sufficient for the gilding of a goblet."

A few days later the goldsmith returned and presented Elrond with both the goblet and the chain. The goblet Elrond set aside for Mithrandir. Then he sent for Anomen.

"A fine ornament such as that ring should have an equally fine chain," he said to the elfling.

Anomen hesitated. "I do not deserve such a fine chain," he said solemnly.

"You do not want to lose that ring," Elrond told him. "Cord will fray. Gold will not fray, and unlike other metals it will not rust. As you value that ring, accept this chain and safeguard it."

Again Elrond proffered the chain, and this time Anomen accepted it. He bowed and turned to leave Elrond's chamber.

"Anomen," Elrond called after him. "Do you not wish to know what became of the other ring?"

Anomen looked back and shook his head. "I don't care about that other ring," he said. "My ring is much nicer because Elrohir gave it to me."

Elrond nodded approvingly, as did Mithrandir when he later heard the tale as he sipped from his gilded goblet.

"So the lad can recognize that the worth of a ring lies in the affection of the one who bestowed it. An excellent insight in one so young."

Mithrandir set aside his goblet and arose. "Well," he said briskly. "I'm off tomorrow, so I shall turn in. And I shall sleep well, knowing that I can rely upon Anomen's wisdom in the matter of rings."

Bemused, Elrond shook his head. "Rings, rings! It is always rings with you!"

"Now, Elrond, you know what is at stake, for like me you are the possessor of a ring of power."

Elrond frowned. "I prefer the power of Anomen's ring."

"As do I. I look forward to the day when the only rings bestowed are of that sort."

"Then you look forward to a time of loss for the Elves," Elrond said somberly. "For if your hopes come to fruition, it is very likely that my ring shall fail—as shall yours and as shall Galadriel's."

"Yet you would still wish to preserve Anomen's ring over yours?"

Elrond did not hesitate. "I would see my ring become a bauble rather than risk the loss of a ring such as Anomen's," he said firmly.

Mithrandir picked up his staff and clapped his hat on his head. "That is what I thought you would say," he said, smiling a little sadly. 'Elrond will lose more than a ring ere the end', the wizard thought to himself. 'But he will not hesitate in his duty, no, not even when he learns the price of victory'.

And nodding farewell to his friend, Mithrandir strode from the room, his own ring heavy on his hand.


	14. Chapter 14: The Knife

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Episode 13 of "Elfling Interludes":**_** Stormgirl415, leralonde, Ne'ith5, OuzoAthena11, Lady Ambreanna, ziggy3, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. ****If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you unless you have disabled the private messaging feature. (Please notice that the fanfiction site has changed its system so that responses to reviews go out via the private messaging feature. That is why the people who have disabled that feature have not heard back from me.)**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly is the beta reader for **_**Parallel Quest**_**, but shorter pieces are posted without a reader. If you catch any errors, please let me know.**

**Episode 14: The Knife**

Anomen tried not to giggle as Elrohir passed his hiding place for the fifth time. The older elfling stopped a few feet away. "Anomen," he called. "You have won the game. Come out now."

The younger elfling remained still. If he came out now, he would not be able to use this hiding place in the future. "Anomen," Elrohir called again, "it is almost time for bed. You had better come out or Ada will scold you."

Elladan came to stand by his twin. "You don't suppose he is trapped somewhere?" he said anxiously.

Elrohir shook his head. "Anomen is good at crawling into small spaces, but he is good at crawling out of them as well. I reckon he will come out after we leave. Let us return to the hall."

"What will we tell Ada?"

"Anomen likely will return shortly after we do. We may not need to tell Ada anything at all."

The twins left the forest and made their way back to the entrance to the Great Hall. The Door Warden—it was Figwit—looked at them suspiciously. "Three went out; two return. Where is your younger brother?"

Elrohir pointed at Elladan. "Here he is," he said innocently.

"You don't know that you are the elder," his twin protested. "Ada never says!"

"I am taller, so likely I am older," Elrohir said loftily.

"That proves nothing," Elladan argued. "A younger person may be taller than an older. Look at Figwit here. He is taller than Glorfindel, but Glorfindel is so old that he has been twice born."

The aforementioned Figwit raised his hand to forestall further debate. "Your birth order matters not one wit. You know very well that I ask about Anomen, who is younger than either of you."

"Oh, Anomen!" exclaimed Elrohir, pretending astonishment. "You know that he likes to climb in at the window above the trellis."

Elrohir was telling the truth, of course, but it must be noted that he did not say that Anomen _was_ climbing in at the window above the trellis. Figwit was insensible of this crucial fact, however. Satisfied, he stepped back and gestured that Elladan and Elrohir should enter the Hall. The two elflings hurried to their room, splashed water upon their faces, and clad in nightshirts, climbed into their beds. Almost as soon as they had settled themselves under their duvets, their father entered the room. He kissed first Elladan and then Elrohir. Then he looked toward Anomen's empty bed. "Where is your brother?" he asked. "There!" the two elflings chorused, each simultaneously pointing at the other.

"I mean Anomen, as you both very well know," Elrond replied dryly.

"He is not in bed," Elrohir said helpfully.

"I know where he is not," Elrond replied. "I want to know where he _is_."

"We would tell you if we knew, Ada," Elladan assured him.

"Thank you. I am glad to know that you would be so accommodating. Could you at least tell me where he was when you last knew where he was? I mean," he added, when he saw that the twins were sorting through the four nested clauses of that last sentence, "could you tell me where you last saw him?"

"We were playing hide-and-hunt," Elrohir replied, "in the forest just past the gate."

"So he has hidden himself somewhere within the forest?"

"Yes, Ada," Elladan said. "Elrohir was the tracker. He found me in a thicket, and the two of us hunted for Anomen."

"We called to him to come out," Elrohir said, getting a little anxious because he could see that it was now very dark outside the window. "Ada, it was wrong for us to leave him, wasn't it? We should have waited for him to come out."

"I imagine you would be waiting still," Elrond replied evenly. He guessed at what must have happened and knew Anomen would never have come out if doing so would have revealed his hiding place. But something must have happened after the conclusion of the game or Anomen would have returned by now. Elrond did not want to utter that last thought aloud, however. He laid a gentle hand upon Elrohir's cheek. "Do not worry, ion nín. If Anomen does not return shortly, I will send Glorfindel to fetch him."

Elrohir winced, and Elladan grimaced. Anomen was outside the walls after dark, which was bad, and Glorfindel would likely have to fetch him, which was—bad. Their younger brother would have to spend many hours polishing shields under the wrathful gaze of the balrog slayer.

Elrond smiled reassuringly at his two older sons and then walked calmly from the room. Once outside, however, he strode rapidly toward Glorfindel's chamber. There he found the balrog slayer studying a checkered board whilst Erestor looked on smugly. "His king is trapped with no hope of escape," gloated the tutor.

"Your final victory must be delayed, Erestor," Elrond said briskly. "Anomen has not returned from a game of hide-and-hunt."

"And now I must be the tracker," grumbled the balrog slayer. "I had much rather play at dominion than at hide-and-hunt." Suddenly he moved a wizard and knocked aside one of Erestor's dragons. "I think you will find," Glorfindel said triumphantly, "that you haven't got enough trolls to counter that move."

The balrog slayer leaped to his feet, and leaving behind a chagrined Erestor, he strode from the Hall with Elrond at his side. As they walked, Elrond quickly explained that the game of hide-and-hunt had taken place close to the gate. "I have hopes that the lad has not gone far," he said to Glorfindel.

"Perhaps not far as the crow flies," observed the balrog slayer, "but I may have to follow a meandering path in pursuit of the scamp."

This was true. On at least one occasion the circuitous path taken by Anomen had forced Glorfindel to travel miles only to find the elfling ensconced in a tree a mere hundred yards from the Great Hall.

The scamp in question was indeed only a short distance from the Hall—but such was the obstacle that stood between him and the gate that he may as well have been a hundred miles away. Long after Elladan and Elrohir had given up looking for him, he had remained in his hiding place beneath a fallen tree, for he wanted to be sure that the twins were not tricking him. 'They may be hiding nearby', he said to himself, 'and may leap out the moment I emerge'. At last, certain that his brothers had returned to the Hall, he was on the verge of crawling out from his hiding place when he heard footsteps that did not sound like those of Elves. Cautiously he peeked out from underneath the log. Inches from his head were a pair of heavy boots. Beyond them were another pair, and beyond those another. A voice spoke in Westron, and for once Anomen was grateful for Erestor's lessons on that language.

"We should turn back, Morthor," one man was saying. "Elves are nasty, dangerous creatures. Their lord can move his eyes about his head."

"That's eyebrows, you idiot," scoffed one of his fellows— Morthor, apparently. "I saw him once, and 'tis true that he can quirk his eyebrows. But what of it? _I_ can wiggle my ears. Am I a monster for that reason?"

"No, you are a monster for other reasons entirely," the third Man jested. "But," he added, growing serious, "Timor is right. Elves are dangerous."

"We have come all this way, and now would you have us turn back?" Morthor replied. "Only a little longer and we will have what we came for."

"Just one Elf?" said the third Man.

"Aye. We only need seize one of those creatures. And for that the reward will be a bag of gold for each of us."

Later Anomen would wonder who had employed the Men. Who would have paid such a munificent reward for the capture of one Elf? Anomen would also ponder the fact that these Men had been able to cross the Bruinen. Spells had been placed upon the river to prevent the passage of enemies, but somehow these spells had been countered. Surely the Men had not themselves been able to lift the enchantment. At the moment, however, Anomen was thinking of other matters. He did not believe that he was in any danger. Elladan and Elrohir had been unable to discover his hiding place, and he was certain that if he remained still the Men would not find him either. Yet Anomen was frightened. He knew that Elrond would send Glorfindel to fetch him, and here were three Men waiting to seize the first Elf that happened by. Would they take Glorfindel unawares?

"Quiet!" Morthor suddenly whispered. "Someone's coming."

Swords in hand, the three Men crouched low. Silently, Anomen began to cry. Surely it was Glorfindel who approached, and it was his fault that his mentor was walking into an ambush. The elfling took a deep breath. "Cyth! Cyth!" he screamed. "Drego! Drego!" _Foes! Foes! Flee! Flee!_

Seconds later arms reached beneath the fallen tree and dragged the elfling out. "A young one," gloated Morthor. "Easier to manage." He threw Anomen over his shoulder and began to run. "Hold off any pursuit," he shouted over his shoulder. He crashed off through the undergrowth. Almost immediately the sound of metal upon metal could be heard.

Morthor was a fast runner. Behind him the clang of clashing steel was quickly muted, and soon it could not be heard at all. Morthor stopped and flung a dazed Anomen to the ground. He stood listening for several minutes. "No sound of anyone following," he muttered. That's good news—and good news. No Elf on my heels, and no Men, neither." Morthor chortled. "If those fools are dead, won't be no need to share the reward," he gloated. He reached down and dragged Anomen to his feet. Pulling a length of cord from his pouch, he tied it around the elfling's neck. "If you don't want to be choked," he warned, "you had better keep up."

Morthor set out at a jog, and Anomen was forced to run after. As he ran, he began to recover his wits. He bore a small knife at his waist, as did all Elves. It was not intended as a weapon but as a tool for everyday use. Weapon or no, it was sharp, and it seemed that in the dark Morthor had failed to notice it. The Man had left Anomen's hands free—no doubt not out of kindness but so the elfling might be the better able to run, free arms being necessary for balance. Anomen slipped the knife out of its hanger. Then he pretended to stumble. Morthor cursed and yanked on the cord, but as Anomen briefly knelt on the forest floor, he succeeded in slipping the blade into the top of his boot, where Morthor would be less likely to spy it when the sun rose.

Morthor seized Anomen by the neck and pulled him to his feet. He slapped the elfling twice. "That is in earnest of what you will receive if you don't mend your pace," he warned. Then the Man began to run even faster than before, dragging Anomen behind him. The elfling felt blood trickling from his nose, but he was untroubled by this fact. Indeed, the elfling felt remarkably serene. He had warned Glorfindel, and he was certain that an alert balrog slayer was proof against two humans. As for himself, he would wait for the opportune moment and escape from his captor.

The sun was rising as they crossed a clearing. As they reentered the forest on the other side, Morthor looked back and then cursed. Rapidly he plunged back under cover. Anomen glanced back and briefly made out a figure crossing the clearing in pursuit. It was not a Man.

Morthor stopped short once they were again within the forest. He stood with his back to a large tree. Anomen pretended breathlessness and crouched low. When Glorfindel emerged to stand before them, Morthor seized Anomen's hair and pulled him upright. The Man had drawn a knife and held it at Anomen's throat.

"Tell me, Elf," the Man demanded, "would you rescue a dead body? Not much profit in that, is there?"

Glorfindel said nothing. He held the Man's eyes with his own.

"You don't want the lad dead, I am sure," the Man tried again. "If you turn back, I won't harm him, I swear. He's wanted for a servant, is all—and his master will be rich and keep him well."

Still Glorfindel held the Man's eyes with his own. Anomen felt the Man begin to tremble.

"Elf," the Man began anew, "I guarantee you the lad's life if you will…aaaaaah!" The Man fumbled the knife and dropped it, and Anomen threw himself to one side. Something large rushed by him. Next the elfling heard a whooshing noise and then a small thud, which was followed by a larger one. Cautiously the elfling lifted his head and peered in the direction of these sounds. Morthor's body lay stretched upon the ground—most of Morthor's body, anyway. The head lay a few feet away—no doubt that accounted for the smaller of the two thuds.

Glorfindel was kneeling by the body and removing something from the Man's side. He stood up wiping Anomen's knife upon a piece of cloth that he had cut from the Man's tunic. He held out the cleaned blade. Anomen hesitated a minute before he took it.

"It is still a good knife, Anomen," Glorfindel said encouragingly. "Put it back in its hanger. Good. Now gather deadwood and bring it into the clearing."

Anomen did as he was bidden. As he brought the first armful to the clearing, he found that Glorfindel had dragged the body into the midst of the open space. "Pile that over the body," Glorfindel instructed. Then the balrog slayer went back to fetch the Man's head.

The next armful Glorfindel placed over the body whilst Anomen fetched even more wood. When branches and small logs were piled high over the body, Glorfindel at last lit the pyre, and he and Anomen kept watch in order to guard against any sparks setting the woods ablaze. They tried to keep upwind of the fire, but the wind kept shifting, and Anomen's eyes teared as the smoke blew into them.

When the fire had died away, Glorfindel took a branch and stirred the ashes, searching for any sparks. These he stamped out. His boots were soon coated with ash, and Anomen shuddered a little, for he knew that some of those ashes had once been a Man. His eyes still burned. He rubbed at them, and his hands came away covered with soot. Suddenly the entire world was as gray as ash, and Anomen felt as if he were peering through smoke, the trees flickering in and out of sight.

Glorfindel moved as swiftly as he had when he covered the ground between himself and Morthor. Anomen found himself lying on a patch of moss out of sight of the clearing. He heard the sound of a nearby stream. Glorfindel helped him to sit up. The elf-lord had fashioned a cup out of a large leaf, and he held it to Anomen's lips. "Drink a little water," he encouraged the elfling.

"I want to bathe," Anomen said.

"I will help you to the stream," Glorfindel replied. "But first you must drink."

Anomen sipped a little water, and then the weapons master helped him to his feet in a manner as remote from Morthor's as could be imaginable. Gently the balrog slayer guided the elfling to the stream, and Anomen gratefully washed his hands and splashed water upon his face. "Give me your knife," Glorfindel said when Anomen was finished.

Anomen gladly relinquished his blade, and Glorfindel used it to cut a sturdy branch the height of the elfling.

"You can lean on this staff as we walk," the Elf said as he handed both branch and knife to Anomen.

As it turned out, Anomen did not need the staff for long. Soon after they set out to return to the Hall, they heard the sound of the bells that Elves customarily attach to the headstalls of their horses. Elrond and a party of scouts rode into view.

"You have tarried long, Glorfindel. I see that you stopped to dilly dally with a couple of Men," Elrond called when he spied the balrog slayer.

"Yes," Glorfindel replied evenly, "and yonder I had an exchange with a third human. I am afraid it did not end well. He had difficulty keeping his countenance."

"You are the greatest of communicators, Glorfindel. Your foes always lose their heads in the face of your rapier wit."

The rescue party had brought two spare horses, but Anomen was so weary that he sat before Glorfindel on one of the horses. As they rode, Anomen timidly broached the subject of the last night's events.

"I am very sorry I stayed out after dark, Glorfindel," he began.

"An elfling would not be an elfling if he did not stay out after dark on occasion," Glorfindel replied.

"But I put you in danger," Anomen said.

"You warned me of the danger," Glorfindel reminded him, "and put yourself in peril by doing so."

"I wouldn't have had to warn you if I hadn't put you in danger in the first place."

"True, but matters worked out well in the end. If I hadn't sallied forth to find you, the next day humans might have happened upon some other Elf less able to defend himself. Think you, Anomen: the humans might have stumbled upon Elladan or Elrohir at play in the forest. They could have carried off one of your brothers, and it might have been hours before anyone realized that he had been taken. In the end, it was good that you stayed out after dark."

Anomen exhaled in relief. Glorfindel was not angry at him.

"I shall tell your father," Glorfindel continued, "how brave you were. I know the Men would never have found you had you chosen to remain hidden. I shall also tell him that you had the presence of mind not only to hide your knife but to retrieve it at need. I saw you draw it from your boot, Anomen! And I shall tell your father that you did not lose your nerve when the moment came to act. You saved me, Anomen, and then had the wit to save yourself."

Anomen twisted about and looked up at Glorfindel's face. Not only was the balrog slayer not angry, he was smiling. No longer timid, Anomen smiled back.

A little while later, Elrond called a brief halt. The rescue party had ridden out without eating. Loaves of bread and wedges of cheese materialized from saddlebags. Elrond handed a loaf to Glorfindel, who handed it to Anomen. "Be a good lad and cut me a slice of bread," the balrog slayer said casually. Anomen drew his knife, hesitated a moment, and then cut Glorfindel a generous slice.

"Mmmph. Good bread," Glorfindel said around a mouthful. "You should cut a slice for yourself."

Again Anomen hesitated, but even more briefly than before. Carefully, he cut a slice that was not quite as generous as the one he had cut for Glorfindel. Then, after hesitating one final time, he began to chew determinedly. After a little while, he spoke. "Mmmph. Good bread," he said around a mouthful.

"Anomen," scolded Elrond, "you are talking with food in your mouth."

Glorfindel winked at Anomen, who winked back. "Ada," the elfling said, "I should like some cheese."

Elrond picked up a wedge of cheese and reached for his own knife to slice it.

"No, Ada, I should like to cut my own portion," Anomen said hurriedly. Elrond handed him the wedge, and Anomen sliced off portions both for himself and for Glorfindel. In short order, the elfling discovered that he had a very good appetite, something that would have been inconceivable when he regained consciousness upon his bed of moss.

Soon the company, fed and rested, again took horse, and it was with a full stomach and a restored spirit that Anomen returned to the Great Hall to once again be an elfling—until the next time.


	15. Chapter 15: Biscuits

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Episode 14 of "Elfling Interludes":_ Elfinabottle, leralonde, Ne'ith5, Lady Ambreanna, ziggy3, and CAH_. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you unless you have disabled the private messaging feature. (Please notice that the fanfiction site has changed its system so that responses to reviews go out via the private messaging feature. That is why the people who have disabled that feature have not heard back from me.)**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as _The Silmarillion_. **

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly is the beta reader for _Parallel Quest_, but shorter pieces are posted without a reader. If you catch any errors, please let me know.**

**Episode 15: Biscuits**

_"Gil-galad was an Elven-king._

_Of him the harpers sadly sing:_

_The last whose realm was fair and free_

_Between the mountains and the sea._

_His sword was long, his lance was keen._

_His shining helm afar was seen._

_The countless stars of heaven's field_

_Were mirrored in his silver shield._

_But long ago he rode away,_

_And where he dwelleth none can say._

_For into darkness fell his star;_

_In Mordor, where the shadows are."_

"Ada wants to see you in his study," Elladan announced, looking up into the tree in which he suspected Anomen had taken refuge.

"I know," Anomen said unhappily, his face appearing between two branches. "He is going to punish me for staying outside the gates after nightfall."

"I don't think so," Elrohir called, materializing beside his twin. "That was a fortnight ago. Ada does not wait so long to mete out punishment. Besides, the next day Glorfindel praised you before the entire household. He said you had been brave and unselfish and clever and resourceful. Ada couldn't very well punish you after Glorfindel made such a speech!"

"Then why have I been summoned?" Anomen wondered, dropping lightly to the ground.

"We don't know," Elladan said. "But," he added, "it looks exactly like a council. "Erestor is there, and Glorfindel and Mithrandir. They seem very solemn!"

A council? Why would an elfling be summoned to a council? Anomen was suddenly dreadfully frightened, for a prospect occurred to him that was even more horrible than that of punishment. Perhaps, after his latest escapade, Elrond and the other elders had decided that he should be sent away. Perhaps they had even concluded that he had best return to Thranduil's realm.

For a moment, the elfling considered running away to avoid being sent away. Innocent of the irony of such an action, he looked about for an escape. However, as Elladan and Elrohir were walking to either side of him, he lacked opportunity to bolt. His unwitting escort thus delivered him safely to the door of Elrond's study, where Anomen stood for several moments before timidly knocking.

"Enter," came Elrond's familiar voice, and Anomen cautiously pushed upon the door and peered within.

"Ah, here is Anomen," said Erestor, smiling fondly at the most diligent of his pupils.

"Part of him, anyway," observed Mithrandir. "Is there a body attached to that head?" His voice was gruff, but he winked at his young friend. Emboldened, Anomen wriggled through the half-open door and went to stand by the arm of the wizard's chair. Mithrandir patted his elbow.

"I hear that you have been getting into scrapes in my absence. That is very uncharitable of you, to keep having these adventures in my absence. Someday you will have to make it up to me by accompanying me on a very long, very grand quest."

"I should like that very much," Anomen said eagerly.

Erestor frowned. "Mithrandir, do not put such notions into his head!"

"And why not? My words have the same effect on him as the epics he reads under your tutelage—they inspire him with thoughts of courage and great endeavors."

"But those epics are history," protested the tutor. "You are going to get him into trouble in the here and now."

"But why read history if not to inspire us in the here and now?" retorted the wizard.

"To avoid the mistakes of the past," Erestor shot back, "such as running about chasing after adventures."

Elrond raised his hand with palm outward. "Peace, my friends." He gestured that Anomen should take a seat. The elfling climbed onto the one next to Mithrandir and sat with his legs dangling. Trying to suppress his nervousness, he clasped his hands together to keep them occupied. Glorfindel tried to put him at ease.

"You acquitted yourself well on the training field yesterday, Anomen. All your shots hit the center of the target. Indeed, I might wish you to be less skillful as an archer, for you cost the armory several arrows. Many of your earlier missiles were split by subsequent ones!"

Anomen smiled happily. He admired Glorfindel and treasured his words of praise. Rare as mithril, they were equally valuable.

Almost immediately, the elfling had additional reason to smile. Elrond picked up a platter of biscuits and passed it to Mithrandir, who proffered the plate to Anomen before taking a pastry himself. Anomen chose a biscuit cut in the shape of an oak, one of his favorite trees. As he nibbled on it, Elrond handed him a goblet of watered wine. A biscuit in one hand, a cup of sweet wine in another, the words of Glorfindel still echoing in his ears, Anomen was a happy elfling indeed.

"Do you know," Erestor began casually as Anomen, equally casual, gaily swung his feet whilst alternating sips of wine with tiny bites of biscuit. "Do you know, Glorfindel, that Anomen is as skilled a listener as he is an archer? I know this to be true because often Anomen is the only one of my pupils who remembers and applies the day's lessons."

"A good listener? I am glad to hear it. The ability to listen carefully is a quality much valued in a scout," observed the balrog slayer. "I'll warrant you listened with great care when the other day when those Men were discussing their plans."

"Oh, yes," Anomen said quickly, eager to prove Glorfindel right. "I think I can repeat word for word their exchange."

"Indeed?" said Elrond. "That feat would show both that you have excellent hearing and a good memory."

"The first Man to speak was named Timor," Anomen began. "He was afraid to go on. He said to the leader, 'We should turn back, Morthor. Elves are nasty, dangerous creatures. Their lord can move his eyes about his head'."

"I didn't quite catch that, Anomen," Elrond said, "and I should like to be sure of what he said. He uttered something about me, apparently."

"Yes," Anomen replied. "Timor said, 'We should turn back, Morthor. Elves are nasty, dangerous creatures. Their lord can move his eyes about his head'."

Erestor exchanged a satisfied glance with Glorfindel. Anomen had repeated himself word for word. "Go on," Glorfindel encouraged the lad.

"Morthor made fun of Timor. He said, 'That's eyebrows, you idiot'. And then he said about Ada, 'I saw him once, and 'tis true that he can quirk his eyebrows. But what of it? _I_ can wiggle my ears. Am I a monster for that reason?'"

"The third Man—I never heard his name—laughed a bit and said, 'No, you are a monster for other reasons entirely' But he agreed with Timor. He said, 'Timor is right. Elves are dangerous'."

"And he was right," Mithrandir muttered. Aloud he said, "Go on, my son. Your account fascinates me exceedingly."

Anomen continued. "Morthor answered, 'We have come all this way, and now would you have us turn back? Only a little longer and we will have what we came for'. Then the third Man asked, 'Just one Elf?' 'Aye', agreed Morthor, and he said, 'We only need seize one of those creatures. And for that the reward will be a bag of gold for each of us'."

The adults exchanged troubled glances.

"A bag of gold for each Man? You are sure this is what Morthor said?" Elrond asked.

"Yes, Ada. A bag of gold for each."

"These words you overhead while you were hidden," Glorfindel said. "Did you hear anything else after you were taken?"

"Only a little more. Morthor said he was glad that he wasn't being followed—either by Elves or by Men. He wasn't sorry at all that his companions did not catch up with us. No, indeed! He gloated over that fact, for he said that he shouldn't have to share the reward. Then he said nothing more until Glorfindel came upon us. Do you want me to recite his words then?"

"That will not be necessary, my lad, for then I heard his words myself," the balrog slayer said. He turned to the other adults. "Morthor believed the person who commissioned this crime to be rich. Anomen's account tells us this, and so do the words he uttered as he tried to bargain with me: 'He's wanted for a servant, is all—and his master will be rich and keep him well'. Those were the words Morthor spoke."

"Not mere brigands, then," mused Elrond, "but agents for another—a person rich enough to offer three bags of gold for the capture of one Elf."

"Ada," Anomen said. "Morthor was carrying me toward the Bruinen. I think he must have crossed the river and meant to return the same way. Their employed must have been a magician as well as rich, for he must have removed the spell protecting the river."

The looks that the adults exchanged were even more troubled.

"Sauron?" Erestor ventured.

"Saruman!" Anomen declared.

"Anomen," Erestor said patiently, "the name is pronounced 'sawh-rawhn'. I know it sounds similar to Saruman, but the two must not be confused."

"No! no!" Anomen cried in frustration. "I meant to say Saruman! He employed those Men."

"Anomen," Erestor chided, "you have no reason to level such an accusation. Saruman is our ally. He belongs to the same order as Mithrandir, who must be offended by your baseless charges against his friend."

"I am not offended," Mithrandir said hastily. "I must agree, though, that your accusation is baseless. It is true that Saruman is wealthy. It is true that Saruman may have the power to counter the spells that protect the Bruinen. But it is not enough to have the power to commit a crime. My dear lad, one must have motive as well. Whatever would have motivated Saruman to order the capture of an Elf? He has servants enough and the wherewithal to hire additional ones should he feel it necessary."

"He didn't want just any servant; he wanted an Elf," Anomen said stubbornly. "He hasn't got one, and he wants one. Why, he wanted to keep _me_ at Isengard."

"Of course he wanted keep you at Isengard," said Erestor, who was becoming a little nettled. "A little elfling wandering alone in the wild! It would have been unthinkable not to offer you shelter. The Lord Elrond has offered you shelter, too. Are you going to accuse _him_ of keeping you as a servant?"

"Peace, Erestor," Elrond said quickly as he saw that Anomen was becoming upset. "You must admit that Saruman's manners are not—endearing. It is understandable that Anomen would be fearful of him." He picked up the plate of biscuits. "Anomen, your account has been very helpful to your elders, but you must be anxious to return to your playmates. Take these biscuits outside to the garden and share them with Arwen and your brothers."

Dismissed and discouraged, Anomen slowly made his way to the garden, where he was greeted gleefully by the other elflings. Elrohir seized the plater of biscuits and began to dole them out. Anomen shook his head when he was offered his share.

"I don't want any," he said sadly.

_"But you must eat, lad," Gimli argued, again proffering the plate._

_"I should have done more," the Elf murmured._

_"You couldn't have done more, Legolas. Do you think your puny arrows could have pierced the hide of that balrog? Hah! Not even my axe could have put a dent in that monster!"_

_Legolas smiled a little. Even in his grief he could not help but notice the Dwarf's excellent opinion of his axe when compared to the Elf's bow. Encouraged by the smile but innocent of its cause, Gimli resumed his attempts to wheedle the Elf into eating._

_"Now, maybe you are thinking that you should have run back onto the bridge even if your bow was useless. Well, what good would that have done? As soon as the balrog fell, the Orcs swarmed forward and began shooting their missiles. You would have ended up spinier than a hedgehog, Legolas!"_

_"I know, Gimli."_

_Gimli stared at the Elf for several seconds, his mouth agape, before he began to splutter. "Well, durn it, Legolas, why do you keep on about how you should have done more? You've just conceded that you couldn't have done more!"_

_Before Legolas could reply, Galadriel entered the glade. Gimli fell silent at once. His mouth was agape again but this time out of awe, for he was already in love with the Lady of Lórien. Legolas poked him in the ribs, and he snapped his mouth shut. Galadriel smiled._

_"Dear Gimli, may I trouble you to give me a moment alone with Legolas?"_

_"Certainly, my Lady," stammered the Dwarf, bowing so low that his beard brushed the moss. Then he straightened and blundered from the glade, careening off several tree trunks in his confusion. Now Legolas was smiling indeed._

_"It is good to see you smile, Legolas," said Galadriel after the Dwarf had at last stumbled out of sight. "It would also be good," she added, "to see you eat." She gestured at the platter that Gimli had dropped in his retreat from the glade. "That bread was baked by Haldir's sister. She would be sorry indeed to learn that it did not meet your approval."_

_"I don't mean to be rude, my Lady," Legolas said as he broke off the heel of the loaf. It _**is**_ good bread," he added after taking a bite._

_"No one thinks you rude, Legolas," Galadriel replied, "for all know that your grief runs deep—and you are entitled to your grief. But my son, do not assume the burden of guilt. The weight of sorrow will suffice."_

_"But I should have done more!" cried Legolas._

_"As Gimli said, you could have done nothing to save your friend. Had you tried, you would have died yourself—and that is not the tribute that Gandalf would have desired."_

_"It is true that in Moria I could have done nothing to save Gandalf. But I am not thinking of Moria." _

_Oddly, Galadriel did not seem surprised. "You are perhaps thinking of something that you failed to accomplish long ago—something that you believe would have altered the course of events so that Gandalf never came to Moria."_

_Legolas stared at her, astonished. "How did you know, my Lady?"_

_"Elrond has written me concerning this matter. You were an elfling, Legolas. You did what you could. You conveyed your suspicions, and it was for the adults to inquire into the matter. This they did not do. For this omission Elrond has accepted the responsibility. There is thus no guilt left for you to bear, so you will have to look for something else to occupy your mind—such as looking out for that Dwarf of yours."_

_"But I could have argued more fiercely," the young Elf objected. "In this matter stubbornness was needful."_

_"To what end such stubbornness, Legolas? Do you think any argument you could have offered would have persuaded your elders that your suspicions were correct? Your words would have punctured their trust in Saruman no more than your arrows could have pierced the hide of that balrog."_

_"There was nothing I could have done?"_

_"There was nothing you could have done—not then. But there is something you can do now."_

_"What may I do, my Lady?"Legolas asked quickly in hopes that he could redeem himself._

_"Eat the bread. It is not as sweet as a biscuit, but from it you will derive the sustenance you shall need to fulfill for Gandalf the quest he could not complete himself."_

_Legolas broke another piece of the loaf, a larger one this time, and began to chew determinedly. Galadriel smiled at him._

_"Now I see you will not leave any for your brother-in-arms," she gently teased._

_Legolas swallowed. "I shall, my Lady—for I hardly think I could eat an entire loaf of bread in one sitting!"_

"Leave one for Anomen!" Arwen cried indignantly as she saw Elrohir reach for the last biscuit.

"He doesn't want one," Elrohir objected.

"No, but he _needs_ one."

Elrohir looked into Anomen's face. Something he saw alarmed him. He thrust the biscuit at the younger elfling.

"Eat it," he said urgently.

"Don't want it," Anomen said listlessly.

"Please, brother," Elrohir begged. "I want to see you eat something."

Elladan had been lazing beside the fountain, trailing his hand in its waters. Now he leaped to his feet and came to stand by Elrohir and Arwen.

"You must eat," he cried, his voice as urgent as Elrohir's. Suddenly he burst into tears.

"Nana would not eat," he sobbed.

Anomen looked up at the three anxious faces staring down at him. Slowly he reached out his hand and accepted the biscuit from Elrohir's hand. He began to chew determinedly. Elladan drew his sleeve across his eyes.

"Good," he said happily. "Now you will have the strength to race me to the statue of Gil-galad, although I shall win!"

This race was a daily ritual—and Elladan _never_ won. Suddenly Anomen stuffed the rest of the biscuit into his mouth and leaped to his feet. Before a surprised Elladan had a chance to react, the younger elfling was halfway to the statue.

Watching from the window, Mithrandir smiled, but his smile was tinged with thoughtfulness. "May you always recover from your sorrows, my son. I do not know why, but I fear that someday I shall be the cause of your grief."

"What are you muttering about?" asked Elrond, coming up to his friend and handing him a cup of wine. "You had better not be casting a spell."

Mithrandir shook his head. "I cannot cast the spell that I desire."

"And what would that be?"

"An incantation to protect Anomen from sorrow."

"Ah, I see. Not even Saruman the Wise has the power to cast such a spell—and if he did he would not employ it, for he cares nothing for the happiness of folk."

"I suppose you are in some sense correct," Mithrandir said slowly. "Saruman concerns himself with matters of policy and does not trouble himself over folk in the particular. No doubt," the wizard went on briskly, "Anomen senses Saruman's lack of concern for the happiness of others, and this intuition accounts for the lad's antipathy toward my colleague."

Elrond nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing but acknowledging that his friend had spoken.

"Well," Mithrandir said cheerfully, "I had better turn in, for I am off again in the morning."

"The Shire?"

"Of course! A place second only to Rivendell in offering the homely comforts."

"And that is no doubt all that draws you to that place," Elrond said dryly.

"What else would draw me there?" Mithrandir said slyly. "No! Don't answer that!" he exclaimed when Elrond opened his mouth to reply. He went back to his chair, seized his hat and his staff, and hurried from the room, stopping briefly at the door to bestow a cheeky grin upon his elven host.

"Rascal," muttered Elrond after his friend had vanished. "No wonder he and Anomen get along so well. They are of a piece, those two." He turned away from the window. Below in the garden, ants labored to drag away crumbs from a plate that lay abandoned on the greensward, and Anomen, his grief for now forgotten, played contentedly in the shadow of the statue of Gil-galad.

_"Gil-galad was an Elven-king._

_Of him the harpers sadly sing:_

_The last whose realm was fair and free_

_Between the mountains and the sea._

_His sword was long, his lance was keen._

_His shining helm afar was seen._

_The countless stars of heaven's field_

_Were mirrored in his silver shield._

_But long ago he rode away,_

_And where he dwelleth none can say._

_For into darkness fell his star;_

_In Mordor, where the shadows are."_


	16. Chapter 16: The Snow Troll

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

_**CAH **_**suggested the idea that led to this story. She asked whether I could create something along the lines of Frosty the Snowman as a holiday story. In the end I did not tie this episode in to any particular festival, so it can be considered a seasonal story rather than a holiday one. That is why I have placed it in "Elfling Interludes" rather than in "The Holiday Cabinet."**

**Thanks to **_**Eiladwyn**_** for a review of Episode of "Elfling Interludes"; thanks to **_**Joee1**_** for reviews of Episodes 9-14, and thanks to the following reviewers of Episode 15:**_** Ne'ith5, Leralonde, Lady Ambreanna, Joee1, and CAH**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you unless you have disabled the private messaging feature.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly is the beta reader for **_**Parallel Quest**_**, but shorter pieces are posted without a reader. If you catch any errors, please let me know.**

**Episode 16: The Snow Troll**

Anomen breathed upon a glass pane and rubbed at it, trying to scrape away enough frost so that he might see outside. Even though the fire had been kept burning all night, ice had settled upon both the inside and the outside of the window.

Finally abandoning the effort to peer through the frozen glass, Anomen went to the dry sink. He picked up the pitcher but did not hear the usual slosh of water against its sides. Peering into the vessel, he saw that a layer of ice had formed upon the surface of the water. He reached into the pitcher and pressed upon the ice. It gave way, and Anomen hastily withdrew his hand as the icy water splashed upon it. He was an elfling, and unlike a grown Elf, he was not inured to the effects of extreme cold.

Anomen poured water and the accompanying shards of ice into the basin. He hesitated and then picked up a wash clout. Gingerly he dipped the swath into the water and then slowly brought it to his face. "Brrrr!" the elfling spluttered as it touched his skin. He gave a perfunctory wipe to his forehead and then decided that as a bath that would suffice. This was of course uncharacteristic behavior for the young Elf, who normally kept himself as clean as a fish in water.

Hanging the clout upon its hook, Anomen slipped on his leggings whilst still wearing his night dress. Then, as swiftly as he could, he yanked off his night clothes and pulled on his tunic.

Whilst Anomen had been performing his morning toilet, Elladan and Elrohir had remained in their beds, huddled under their duvets. "Anomen," mumbled Elladan, "why are you up? It isn't morning yet."

"Yes it is," retorted Anomen. "Figwit came in a little while ago to replenish the fire. He said it was nearly time for breakfast."

This caused Elrohir to throw aside his quilt and sit up, although he swiftly drew up his knees to bring his feet under his night dress. Shivering, he hugged himself. "Nearly time for breakfast!" he exclaimed. "How can that be? Look how dark it is!"

"Figwit says that we shall not see the sun today," Anomen replied. "The clouds are thick and dark, and snow has been falling since midnight. Haven't you noticed how quiet it is?"

It was true that all sounds were muffled, as one would expect were the world swaddled in snow. Elladan and Elrohir both turned their faces toward the window and exclaimed to see how rime-crusted it had become during the night. The patch that Anomen had tried to clear had already frozen over again.

"Usually it feels warmer when it snows," Elladan observed.

"Yes," agreed Elrohir. "Erestor says that the snow clouds are like quilts, holding in the warmth of the earth, and that cloudless nights are the coldest."

"But this storm is different," said Anomen. "Ada said it has come all the way from the furthest north, where the sun does not show itself at all during the winter time. With no sun to warm the land, the air grows very, very cold."

By now Elladan and Elrohir were out of bed. Like Anomen, after sampling the water in the ewer, they decided to forgo the usual morning ablutions. They each pulled on their warmest tunics, and Elladan, who usually remained shoeless within their chamber, hastily pulled on his boots. The three elflings then clustered about the window, blowing and rubbing upon the glass in a futile effort to see outside. "I believe," Anomen said suddenly, "that it is not just frost that blocks our view. The snow is mounded up so high that it has risen above the sill!"

Excitedly, Elrohir reached for the latch.

"No!" cried Elladan. "If you open the window, the snow will fall into the room!"

Elrohir was encouraged rather than discouraged by this warning. The window opened inward and Elrohir tugged eagerly upon the handle. The sash was frozen shut, but after several vigorous tugs, it gave way with a popping sound. Elrohir tumbled backward upon his bottom. As he fell, snow cascaded upon him, making it look as if his head were hoodped in white and his shoulders covered by a snowy hoode.

Elrohir looked surprised for a moment, but then he began to giggle. Joining him in laughter, Elladan and Anomen helped Elrohir to his feet and brushed the snow from his head and shoulders.

"What is this?" came a voice from the door as the three elflings tried to scoop up the flakes and throw them onto the mounded snow outside, which seemed to be rising higher by the minute. "Is this some magic of Mithrandir's, that it should snow inside the Hall?"

"Ada!" chorused the three elflings. "The snow has risen above the window sill."

"And I suppose," said Elrond dryly, "that the snow, having reached that height, somehow contrived to open the window."

"Does it not seem to you, Ada," Elrohir said slyly, "that icicles sometimes look like fingers?"

"I own that this is sometimes the case," the elf-lord replied. "Will you now tell me that an icy hand opened that window?"

"Indeed, it _was_ an icy hand," Elrohir assured him. He was telling the truth, of course, for his hand _had_ been icy.

Elrond smiled. "Icy hands might be warmed if they clutched mugs of mulled cider. The Head Cook has set his underlings to brewing a cauldron of this beverage."

As he spoke, Elrond stepped aside from the door, which was well, for at the words "mulled cider," the elflings rushed towards it. Out the doorway they tumbled and down the hallway they pelted. Their tutor Erestor would have reproved them had he witnessed the tumult, but Elrond merely followed in their wake indulgently. The young Elves were used to spending hours each day on archery and sword practice and horseback riding, but for several days the snow had prevented them from visiting the training fields. Elrond suspected that running through the corridors might be a necessary outlet for the elfling's unexpended energy.

Arriving at the Dining Hall, the elflings found their sister Arwen already in possession of a mug of cider. Eagerly they lined up with their own mugs in front of the Head Cook, who scowled at them. "Happens you know anything about the biscuits that I baked yesterday?" he demanded of Elrohir."What would I know of biscuits?" Elrohir replied innocently. "It is _you_ who are the acknowledged master of the art of baking."

"You know how to eat them," retorted the Cook.

"Anyone presented with a platter of your biscuits would need no schooling in how to address them," Elrohir replied sweetly, proffering his mug so that the Cook might ladle cider into it.

"I suppose I may as well let you have some of this," grumbled the Cook. "To wash down those biscuits!" he added.

Grinning, Elrohir and his brothers went to sit on a bench near their sister. "Ada," she was saying to their father, "it has stopped snowing at last. See!"

The little elf maiden gestured at one of the many windows through which light now streamed into the Dining Hall. Unlike the chambers of Men, which tended to be dark and lit only by torches, the room had many casements, and now all could see that the storm had indeed ended.

"After the noon hour," Elrond replied to his daughter, "we shall see how cold it is outside. If it is not bitterly cold, perhaps you and your brothers may be permitted to go outside. After lessons, of course," he added, giving Anomen, Elladan, and Elrohir a meaningful glance.

"Oh, I think they may be excused from lessons today," Erestor, the elflings' tutor, said hastily. Elrond's eyebrows quirked. Erestor was rarely willing to give his students a holiday. The housebound elflings must have driven their tutor frantic with their relentless whispering and wriggling.

"If you are sure," Elrond began.

"I am very sure," Erestor interrupted. "Very, very sure!"

"Ada, must we wait for the noon meal?" Elladan begged. "As we haven't any lessons, may we not go out straightaway?"

"It is still bitterly cold," warned Elrond. "The sun is pale as a petal of simbelmynë."

"We will wrap up exceedingly well," Elrohir promised.

"And you will see that Arwen does not become chilled?"

"Yes, Ada," chorused the elflings.

"Then you have my leave," said Elrond.

The young Elves leaped to their feet. "Finish your breakfast," commanded Elrond.

"I asked whether we might go out straightaway," Elladan pointed out.

"True," agreed his father. "But I thought you meant straightaway after breakfast. I did not think you meant upon the instant!"

Disappointed, the elflings resumed their seats, but they were too excited to eat, and after a little while Elrond decided it would do no good to keep them longer at table. Ruefully, he gestured that they might arise and depart the chamber.

A short while later four elflings swathed in furs tumbled into the garden. With Elrohir in the lead, they broke a path to an alcove that had been in the lee of the storm, its power broken by walls on three sides. There the snow was deep enough to allow for all sorts of games, but the drifts were not over Arwen's head. Once they had reached this alcove, like the young of all races presented with an expanse of unbroken snow, they first lay upon their backs and made snow birds, moving their arms up and down and their legs side to side to create the impressions of wings and tails. Carefully they levered themselves to their feet and proudly they gazed at their creations. "I have made a hummingbird," Arwen announced, referring to the smallest of the hovering birds. "And I a kingfisher," said Anomen. "Mine is a kestrel," proclaimed Elladan. "Yours is nothing to mine," boasted Elrohir. "Mine is a harrier."

Elladan replied to Elrohir's proud pronouncement with a snowball, and soon the air was filled with the white spheres. Elladan and Anomen were careful to reply to Arwen's tosses with snowballs gently aimed at her middle. Elrohir, however, was not so careful, and the snowy combat was brought to a sudden halt when one of his hard-packed missiles struck her square in the face. Arwen stared reproachfully at her brother. As she did so, blood beaded and froze beneath her nose. "You must hold some snow to your nose," Anomen exclaimed. "It will keep the swelling down and perhaps prevent bruising as well." He scooped up some snow in his mitten and gave it to Arwen, and he and Elladan stood by solicitously as she pressed the snow to her nose. By and by she brought her hand away. Her nose was bright red. Elrohir, who was skulking nearby, laughed. "You have a nose as red as any Dwarf's," he chortled.

"For shame, Elrohir," cried Anomen.

"Yes," cried Elladan. "For shame! If her nose is red, whose fault is that?"

Elrohir had felt bad before; now he felt worse. So of course he became even more truculent.

"The Cook says a person who cannot stand the heat should get out of the kitchen," he declared. "This is the meaning of that proverb: that a person who cannot stand being struck by a snowball should get out of the game."

"The Cook didn't say that a person who cannot stand being hit with a hot poker should get out of the kitchen," Anomen retorted, "so I think Arwen ought to have expected that she could play with us without being hit in the face with a snowball."

"I wasn't aiming at her face," Elrohir said sullenly.

"If you were aiming at something else and hit her face, then you have very poor aim," Elladan declared.

"I don't!" Elrohir retorted indignantly. "She moved into the path of that snowball."

Arwen had in fact been standing quite still, but before either Elladan or Anomen had a chance to point this out, the little elf maiden put an end to the argument. She had been kneeling in the snow and rolling about a snowball, which as a consequence had been growing larger and larger, until now it was too large for her to move. "I want to make a snow troll," she cried. "Help me make this larger."

Elladan and Anomen gladly abandoned the argument, which had been growing uncomfortably 'warm', and together they pushed the giant snowball through the garden until it was large enough to serve as the base of a snow troll. Then they created another, somewhat smaller, snowball for the trunk, which with some effort they lifted onto the base. As they began work on the head, they sent Arwen, who had been watching excitedly, inside to fetch some garments with which to dress the snow troll. When she returned with hood, cloak, and gloves, Anomen and Elladan were just hoisting the head onto the trunk. Anomen lifted Arwen up so that she might place the hood atop the snowy head, and Elladan helped her drape the cloak over the snow troll's back. With twigs and bits of bark Arwen, Anomen, and Elladan created a face for the troll: eyes, nose, and wide mouth full of teeth. Two long sticks served as arms, and on the ends of these Arwen placed the gloves. The snow troll complete, the three elflings stepped back to admire their work.

All this while a sullen Elrohir had been loitering nearby. Suddenly he cried, "A Troll! A Troll!" Running full tilt, he raced at the snow troll, and dove at it. The trunk, and the head with it, toppled to the ground. "Hah!" he gloated, "I have defended Imladris from the depredations of a vicious Troll."

Shocked, Elladan and Anomen stared speechlessly at their brother, and Arwen, normally so stoic, began to cry. Suddenly, however, she stopped. "Look!" she cried, gesturing at the remains of the snow troll. Elladan and Anomen left off glaring at Elrohir, and _he_ left off glaring at _them_. They all turned and gazed at where Arwen was pointing. To their amazement, they saw that the trunk of the snow troll had begun to wriggle. It inched its way toward the stump of the snow sculpture, and then, with a sudden leap, it settled itself back into its former position upon the base.

Now the fallen head began to tremble, and soon it, too, was wriggling toward the base of the snow troll. Arriving at its destination, it gave a leap mighty enough to bring it atop the trunk. The head revolved in place several times until it seemed satisfied that it was correctly situated. Now the resurrected snow troll opened and closed its bark mouth several times, clacking together its peg teeth. Then it raised a stick arm and adjusted the hood atop its head. Once again satisfied, it stooped and with one gloved hand scooped up a handful of snow—which with the other hand it promptly pressed into a snowball and flung at Elrohir, hitting him squarely in the face. Elrohir howled. The snow troll swiftly scooped up another handful of snow. Elrohir bolted for the Hall, but not so quickly as to avoid the snowball that struck his bottom. The creature pursued the elfling all the way to the door, pelting him repeatedly with hard-packed snowballs.

After a yelling Elrohir had vanished into the Hall, the snow creature turned and glided back to its spot in the garden. Soon it stood gleaming white in the rays of the sun that had at last broken through the clouds. There was nothing to suggest that the snow troll had ever been animated.

During this entire display, Elladan, Anomen, and Arwen had been rooted to the ground as if their feet had been frozen in place. Now at last they stirred. "Do you suppose," said Elladan in a hushed voice, "that snow from the North is magic?"

Anomen shook his head. Like Elladan, he spoke in a hushed voice, as if fearful that the snow troll, for all that it stood so still, might somehow be able to overhear their conversation. "We have had snow from the North before," he pointed out, "although never so much. We have made snow birds in such snow, and snow castles and snow trolls. We have sledded in it. Aye, and thrown snowballs, too."

"Perhaps," suggested Elladan, "there was something special about the garments. Arwen, where did you get the cloak, hood, and gloves?"

"I borrowed them from Figwit."

Figwit? Elladan and Anomen exchanged glances. If there were ever an Elf with no magic about him, that would be Figwit.

As they puzzled over the conundrum, the noon bell rang. The elflings turned and slowly made their way toward the Hall. They had hardly reached the door when Arwen exclaimed. "I promised Figwit I would bring back his garments by noon, for he has an errand to the Armory."

"I will get them," Anomen said. "You go with Elladan to the Dining Hall."

Anomen turned and hurried back into the garden. To his surprise, when he reached the snow troll, Mithrandir was standing before it. The wizard was just lighting his pipe.

"Mithrandir, what are you doing here!?"

"Having a smoke before going in," the wizard said blandly. "You know that your father frowns upon my pipe."

"I can see that you are smoking, Mithrandir. But I thought that you were in the Shire."

"I was, but I have finished my business and so decided to return to check on an elfling or two. The storm forced me to shelter in an abandoned Troll cave, else I should have been here earlier. By the by, speaking of Trolls, I like your snow troll. Yes, I like it very much indeed."

Anomen was removing the troll's gloves, and suddenly he stopped and looked hard at the wizard. "Mithrandir, how long have you been in the garden?"

"Long enough," the wizard said evasively.

"Mithrandir, did you—"

"Don't ask, my lad," the Istar interrupted. "Tell me, Anomen, don't you think it would do some good for Elrohir to be forever wondering whether a snow troll might come charging out of the bushes should he choose to fling a snowball at the wrong target?"

Anomen saw that there was sense in what the wizard said, so he forbore asking any further questions. Mithrandir puffed out a dragon and sent it to whizzing about the snow troll—"That will make him behave for an hour or two"—and then the wizard and the elfling returned together to the Hall.

The sun remained out for rest of that day. It was sunny the next day as well, but the elflings had no chance to enjoy the fine weather. It seemed that one day's respite sufficed for Erestor, and the tutor insisted that Anomen, Elladan, and Elrohir catch up on their lessons. Thus they did not have a chance to return to the garden until the third day. By then all sign of the snow troll had vanished.

"I think," said Elrohir, trying to sound brave, "that it must have melted."

"Perhaps," said Anomen. "Or perhaps," he added slyly, "it has wandered off and is in a cave somewhere, like a true Troll. And perhaps, when the weather grows cold again, it will come back."

At that, Elrohir looked frightened, and Anomen felt a little sorry for him. However, the younger elfling suspected that before too long the older one would be as high-spirited as ever. For no matter the comeuppance, Elrohir never remained subdued for long. Still, from then on Elrohir was careful of his aim during snowball fights, and he never again struck any of his playmates in the face. He _was_ known to have dumped snow on Orcs on one memorable occasion, but for that he may, of course, be forgiven. In any event, that incident is beyond the scope of this particular story, and so, dear Readers, stay well and stay warm.


	17. Chapter 17: The Snow Warrior

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**One of the reviewers of Episode 16 asked me when Elrohir had sent snow cascading onto a band of Orcs, and this is the resulting story. It toggles back and forth between the adult and the elfling versions of Elrohir, the one constant being snow. I would mention the name of the reviewer, but the site is experiencing a glitch that is preventing me from rechecking my reviews or even checking the most recent emails in my in and outboxes.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Episode 16 (one of whom prompted me to write this chapter!):**_**Ne'ith5, leralonde, Pghj2005, Vanime18431, Joee1, stormgirl415, and CAH.**_** I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you unless you have disabled the private messaging feature.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly is the beta reader for **_**Parallel Quest**_**, but shorter pieces are posted without a reader. If you catch any errors, please let me know.**

**Episode 17: The Snow Warrior**

_Elrohir glanced back over his shoulder. No goblins were in sight, but the young Elf did not pause to exult. He had eluded the Orcs that had waylaid him at the ford, but he was still left with a problem: how to get over the river. Usually one could cross the river at several points, but the spring melt had turned the waterway into a muddy torrent that tumbled boulders and swept uprooted trees downstream. At the ford from which he had been driven, the river was wide and shallow, its current mild, and Elrohir knew that only here would he be able to cross. No doubt the Orcs were clustered about this ford because they guessed, and rightly, that travelers would make for this spot when they discovered the other fords to be impassable.  
_

_Elrohir grimaced in a very unelvenly fashion. A few miles away lay an injured Legolas, his leg gashed when a ledge had given way, throwing the Sinda down a slope and against the jagged end of a broken tree limb. Elrohir wanted to bring his friend help from Rivendell. Legolas's injury did not seem severe and Elrohir had bound it for him, but he did not like to take chances where his friend was concerned. Elrond was the acknowledged chief of the healers, and Elrohir would therefore not rest until he could bring Elrond to Legolas.  
_

_Elrohir looked all about, searching for a solution to his problem. As he had fled the Orcs, he had climbed halfway up a wooded slope. He looked down in the direction he had come. The river had swept around a bend and widened into a valley. The bend, however, had been necessitated by a granite crag that rose high above the valley and that over the centuries had been impervious to erosion. "That crag was once part of a far larger mountain," Elrond had told Elrohir one year when they had ridden out together to reconnoiter the borders of Imladris. "It was once the center of a volcano. The softer rocks, such as the basalts, have worn away, leaving behind only a cone of granite."  
_

_Although the original mountain was much reduced, the surviving crag was still tall enough to be snow-capped even after several days of melting. The snow on the northern side, shaded from the sun, was particularly heavy. This was the side facing the ford.  
_

_Gazing upon the snow-capped crag, Elrohir suddenly knew how he could get past the Orcs. Grinning darkly, he turned his steps toward the crag._

Pulling sleds behind them, Elrohir, Elladan, and Anomen hurried past the spot where the gazebo, flattened in the course of yet another one of Figwit's misadventures, was being reconstructed. The frame had been repaired, and now Elves were rebuilding its roof. Figwit, eager to make amends for smashing the outbuilding, was handing up shingles and tools. His efforts were being watched by a wary Head Carpenter, who really wished that the accident-prone Elf would find some other way to occupy his time.

Once past the gazebo, the elflings made for the gate. Snow had fallen during the night, and Elrond, after being assured by their tutor, Erestor, that the elflings had lately been diligent in the schoolroom, had given them permission to play on the slope above Rivendell. This expanse of snow, unobstructed by boulders or trees, was perfect for sledding.

Reaching the top of the slope, the elflings sat in the snow and waxed the runners of their sleds for the second time that day. The second application of wax was probably unnecessary, but the elflings were operating on the principle that if one layer of wax would make a sled go fast, then two layers would make it go faster. Their grammar was impeccable even if their logic was not. The elflings had already waxed the runners sufficiently so that not a single flake of snow would stick to them. Additional wax could not reduce the number of flakes, none being present.  
Still, the elflings waxed both enthusiastic and enthusiastically. In the clear air their cheerful chatter floated downward into the valley so that the carpenters smiled as they swung their hammers. Even the Head Carpenter left off fretting momentarily, although his care returned as he saw Figwit tripping over the base of a ladder. Rushing forward, the Carpenter steadied the ladder, which, if it had fallen, would have struck a statue, which would have fallen into a trellis, which would have knocked over a bench. That was generally the way of it with Figwit. (Indeed, that was how the gazebo had come to be smashed. The structure was the last in a series of what Mithrandir had referred to as 'dominoes', game pieces in some obscure mannish pastime.)

Oblivious to the fact that below them a series of unfortunate events had been barely averted, the elflings, satisfied that the runners would not stick, threw themselves upon their sleds and shot down the slope, their speed so rapid that the only way to halt their progress was to overturn their sleds before they ploughed into the wall that surrounded the garden. Unlike the runners, the elflings emerged covered with snow. "Glossadan! Glossadan!" they shouted at each other. _Snowman! Snowman! _Then they proceeded to heighten their similarity to that legendary snow creature by pelting each other with snowballs. At last, breathless from laughing, they paused to help each other brush the snow from their backs. A little recovered, they climbed back to the top of the slope, where they again flung themselves upon their sleds. At the foot of the hill, they once more bombarded each other with snow missiles. Indulging themselves in these pastimes, it was nearly time for the noon meal before they began to weary.

"Let's build a snow troll before we go down," Anomen suggested as they stood atop the slope contemplating their last run.

"Yes, let's!" agreed Elladan.

Elrohir preferred sledding and flinging snowballs to the quieter occupation of building snow trolls, but he did not strongly object. If they were to make a snow troll, however, he wanted it to be a grand one. "Let us make the troll exceptionally large so that it may be seen from the valley," he suggested. Elladan and Anomen willingly agreed, and the three set about rolling snowballs for the three parts of the troll—Anomen the head, Elladan the middle, and Elrohir the base.

Elrohir was uppermost on the slope, which showed a lack of foresight on the part of the elflings, for it was customary to roll the head and the middle to the base. To do so would require Anomen and Elladan to roll their snowballs uphill, and although they were not as large as the base, they were still goodly in size. Elrohir called upon Elladan and Anomen to stop, however, when he saw them combining forces to roll the middle part uphill.

"Come and help me roll the base downward," he commanded. "It will be easier than trying to bring the other pieces uphill." The base would be made larger, too, but this he only said to himself.

Elladan and Anomen abandoned the middle portion and climbed up to Elrohir. Standing upslope of the enormous snowball, they pushed in unison against it. With gravity and the slope in their favor, they soon had it moving, and once in motion, inertia, formerly their foe, became their friend—for a little while. "An object at rest," Erestor had lectured them one day, "will remain at rest unless a force acts upon it. So, too, an object in motion will remain in motion unless something intervenes to stop it." By pushing upon the enormous snowball, the elflings had overcome its inertia; now, on a slope and subject to gravity, its size and its speed growing by the second, the snowball began to outpace the elflings.

"Stop it!" cried Elladan as the gigantic ball of ice and snow rolled past the other two snowballs. He slipped and fell sprawling as Anomen and Elrohir clutched futilely at the snowball with their mittens. "We have got to get ahead of it," panted Anomen. Elrohir sprinted forward. Turning, he braced his arms against the snowball—which knocked him down and rolled over him.

Elladan came up then, and he and Anomen helped Elrohir to his feet from where he had been pressed into the slope's yielding snow. Then the three elflings watched ruefully as the huge snowball raced down the slope, disturbing the snow to either side of it. Soon the entire slope was in motion, and in short order an avalanche was rumbling toward Rivendell. "The valley of Imladris is wide," Elladan said hopefully. "The avalanche may slow before it reaches even as far as the garden."

Below the last shingle had just been applied to the newly-repaired gazebo, and the Elves had climbed down from its roof and were making their way to the Dining Hall—all save Figwit. He had dropped a nail and was searching about trying to recover it.

"You needn't trouble yourself over a nail," the Carpenter had assured him. "We have plenty of them."

But Figwit was always anxious that things be done properly. (In keeping with that, let it be noted that Figwit was Erestor's cousin, a fact little known, possibly because the tutor kept forgetting to enter it into the genealogies.) "What if one of the elflings should step upon the nail?" Figwit had said to the Carpenter. "Likely the nail is buried deep in the dirt. There let it lie," the Carpenter had replied. This answer did not satisfy Figwit, so while all the other Elves hurried from the garden, he crawled about the base of the gazebo, looking for the errant nail. At last he spied it. It must have bounced when it hit the earth, and now it was wedged between two laths at the base of the gazebo. Figwit knelt upon the ground and tried to worm it out. "There! I have it!" he cried in triumph, leaping to his feet. As he did so, he bumped into a plank that was leaning against the gazebo. This plank slid sideways and bumped against a wheelbarrow. Set in motion, the wheelbarrow rolled out of sight, heading for the other side of the gazebo. Figwit heard a thump and then a crash, followed by a dreadful rumble. "Manwë forgive me!" the unfortunate Elf cried as the gazebo came crashing down upon him. In the nick of time, he threw himself at the base of the structure, and the boards fell in such a manner as to create a little pocket in which the Elf huddled miserably, wondering how he could have managed to bring down the gazebo yet again, particularly as the Carpenter had been heard to say that he had designed it so that it would survive into the Fourth Age, and even the Fifth.

From atop the slope, the elflings had watched unhappily as the avalanche rolled toward Rivendell. Fortunately, it had lost some of its momentum when it reached the valley, and the garden wall had further broken its power. Still, the leading edge of the avalanche did cascade over the wall, and as the elflings looked on helplessly, it reached the newly-repaired gazebo and flattened it.

"I suppose," Elladan said gloomily as the rumble of the avalanche died away, "that we may as well go down. We can do nothing standing here."

In spite of Elladan's words, the elflings remained where they were for a little while longer. They had no desire to face either their father or the Carpenter. Meanwhile, the Elves in the Dining Hall had heard the rumble of the avalanche and came rushing into the garden.

"Oh, dear," exclaimed the Carpenter. "I am afraid Figwit is in there somewhere!"

"It would be Figwit," Elrond muttered to himself. Aloud, he gave commands that the Gardener should fetch shovels. With these tools the Elves probed about the base of the gazebo, where the Carpenter said Figwit was likely to be, and soon they heard his muffled shouts. In short order they had shoveled away the snow from atop the planks that protected him, and they drew him forth unharmed. Indeed, not only was he unharmed, but he clutched in his hand the nail, which he promptly handed to the Carpenter, who stood staring from nail to Figwit with mouth agape until Elrond frowned at him. Figwit, meanwhile, launched into his apologies. "I am so very, very sorry," he said contritely. "I hardly know how I did it, but I must have started that avalanche."

Elrond gazed up at the slope. At its top, above the level of the slide, he could make out three small figures. He turned to Figwit. "You did not cause the avalanche," he assured Figwit.

"Oh, but I must have," replied Figwit. "Look! The gazebo has been knocked flat. Every time the gazebo has been knocked flat, I have been responsible. Surely I am responsible this time as well."

"When events are repeatedly traced to a particular cause," Elrond conceded, "we tend to ascribe the same cause to similar events, for that conclusion seems probable. However," the elf-lord went on, "something may appear to be probably true without being necessarily so. For probability provides no surety of truth, reason alone being its guarantor."

"Elrond is correct," Erestor proclaimed. The tutor had never been known to miss an opportunity to lecture, and that was probably, although not necessarily, going to be the case now. "The distinction of which Elrond speaks," Erestor began sententiously, "is like to that between the difference between deduction and induction. Consider the following three sentences: All termites eat wood. That particular insect is a termite. Therefore, that particular insect eats wood. If it is true both that all termites eat wood and that a particular insect is a termite, then it is necessarily true that the particular insect eats wood. That is, that the insect eats wood is the inevitable deduction, given the correctness of both statements. Induction, on the other hand, brings with it no such certainty, for—"

Elrond raised his hand. "Peace, Erestor! It is not termites of which we speak."

"I merely mention termites in order to illustrate a general principle," Erestor protested.

"Your pardon, Master Erestor," Figwit ventured timidly, "but what have termites got to do with anything? It was not termites brought down the gazebo."

"No, they did not," Erestor said eagerly, latching upon the opening provided by the hapless Elf. "But isn't it true that they sometimes _do_ bring down wooden structures?"

"Ye-es," Figwit said hesitantly. "This is so, particularly amongst Men, who set the posts of their dwellings directly upon the soil. It is less common amongst Elves, for we build upon foundations of stone."

"But there was a privy collapsed upon a time here in Rivendell," Erestor pointed out, "and it was discovered afterward that its framework had been eaten away by termites. You do remember the event, don't you?"

"Yes," Figwit said miserably. He had been in the privy at the moment of its collapse.

"I believe, Erestor, that I know where you are taking this argument," Elrond hastily interjected, trying to gloss over the matter of the privy. He was now resigned to the fact that the tutor would not be deterred from his lesson. "Let us say that in a settlement of Men three houses crumble as a result of the depredations of termites. Let a fourth house crumble, and Men might be inclined to say that termites were again to blame."

"Exactly," cried Erestor. "A perfect example of induction, for it is an argument based upon what seems most probable. But," the tutor continued triumphantly, "upon closer examination, it might be proved that rot destroyed the timbers of the fourth house. Thus it is that induction does not provide the certainty furnished by deduction. When relying upon induction, one must always be prepared for the possibility that the evidence will overthrow one's initial supposition."

Listening patiently, Elrond decided that he might as well turn Erestor's lesson to fullest account. "You are very wise, Erestor," he declared. "Now to apply this lesson to the current case: induction might lead us to presume that Figwit is responsible for the destruction of the gazebo, for three previous gazebos must be laid at his feet." _Literally_, the elf-lord ruefully added to himself. "However," he continued aloud, "Erestor has taught us that we must be wary when we try to induce the cause of any event—for the past is not always prologue to the present, regardless of a mannish proverb to the contrary."

Figwit looked back and forth between Erestor and Elrond.

"If I understand you correctly," he began haltingly and then stopped.

"Yes?" Elrond said encouragingly.

"If I understand you correctly," Figwit continued, "I…am not a termite?"

"If by that," Elrond said kindly, "you mean that you are not responsible for the destruction of the gazebo, then, no, you are not a termite. Small creatures even more destructive than termites were responsible—and yonder they come."

While Elrond, Erestor, and Figwit had been parsing the distinction between induction and deduction, the elflings had been reluctantly climbing down the mountain. Now they approached, dragging their sleds behind them, heads hanging, shoulders slumped. With a high degree of probability, albeit without the certainty of deduction, one might have induced from their appearance that they were mightily fearful of whatever punishment was in store for them. They came to a halt before Elrond, glanced up timidly at him, and quickly glanced down again. Elrond's expression could have melted snow hard-packed by the boots of an army of Orcs.

_Elrohir was nearing the top of the crag, and he grinned as he remembered how his father had ordered that he and his brothers take up shovels and join the Elves in digging out the garden. Somehow, however, the corner that had been assigned to them was slowly transformed into a snow fort, and the adult Elves laboring with their shovels seemed oblivious to the fact that the elflings removed no snow from the garden but merely reshaped it into icy battlements. Indeed, the Head Gardener, who was put in charge of the snow removal, assigned Figwit to trundle wheelbarrows of snow to their corner, which the elflings used to reinforce the walls of their redoubt. (The Gardener gave Figwit this assignment after that Elf had somehow managed to throw shovelfuls of snow into the faces of three of his comrades.)_

_Elrohir reached the top of the crag. On the snow-capped side, a steep slope ran for several hundred feet before reaching a drop-off directly above the ford. Elrohir crept to the edge of the precipice and looked down. The Orcs were all clustered around a fire at the base of the cliff, no doubt because the rock face broke the strength of the wind, which was both cold and strong this day. Elrohir grinned again. He retreated to the apex of the slope. Kneeling in the snow, he formed a snowball. This he rolled about in the snow, and it grew larger and larger, until it would have served as the base for a snow troll. Elrohir laughed aloud, remembering the day that Mithrandir had animated a snow troll that Elladan and Legolas had built for Arwen. Elrohir had knocked the snow troll over in his vexation at being chided for hitting Arwen with a snowball, and Mithrandir had given him his comeuppance by sending the 'troll' to bombard him with snow missiles. 'I shan't be chided for __**this**__ snowball', Elrohir chuckled to himself._

_Elrohir had been pushing the 'snowball' from side to side, on a path horizontal to the slope. Now, satisfied with its size, he stood upslope of it and threw himself at it as hard as he had thrown himself at Arwen's snow troll so many years before. It began to roll down the steep slope, becoming ever larger as it did so, and the ice sheet over which it passed, rotten after having gone through several cycles of thawing and freezing, gave way. Soon the entire slope was in motion, rumbling toward the edge of the cliff. Elrohir tried to help the avalanche along with a bit of Quenya he remembered from one of Erestor's manuscripts. "Cuiva oron; nai losselya taltuva __túrënen__ notto-carinnar!" he cried. _Wake up mountain! May your snow fall with might upon enemy-heads!_ With a roar, the snow and ice reached the precipice and leaped from it, eager to find and destroy the foes of the Elf who had called upon the mountain for aid. _

_Elrohir ran to the edge of the cliff and peered down. At first he could make out nothing, for all was obscured by a cloud of snow. Then the cloud settled, and Elrohir gazed intently at the enormous mound of snow and ice that lay at the base of the cliff. He watched for movement, but there was none. Satisfied, he began to descend the crag. 'I should be able to dispense with the Orc or two who manage to claw their way out,' Elrohir said to himself. However, when he reached the ford, he was not troubled by even one Orc. All had perished in the avalanche._

_Two days later, leading a spare mount, Elrohir and Elrond rode across the ford. The mound of snow had melted a little, and a few Orc boots could be seen sticking out of it. "Is there a gazebo in there, I wonder," Elrond said dryly._

_Elrohir made a show of looking all about. "I don't see Figwit hereabouts," he said at last, "so I reckon there are no collapsed gazebos in that mound."_

_And so, reassured on that point, father and son proceeded on their journey to a bough shelter that Elrohir had constructed. There they found Legolas resting comfortably, his leg stiff but uninfected. Elrond and Elrohir helped the Mirkwood Elf onto the spare horse, and they rode back to the ford. By now several more Orc boots had melted from the mound, and Legolas dubbed the place Tund i Yrch, the Mound of Orcs. And even after the end of the Third Age and the dawning of the Fourth, it was well known throughout Eregion that the best place to cross the river was at the Tund i Yrch, where the crag Lossmaethor, the Snow-warrior, stood guard, always ready to hurl ice and snow upon the head of any Orc so foolish as to brave the spell, more powerful than he guessed, cast by Elrohir Elrondion._


	18. Chapter 18: Weathering the Weather

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Episode 17: **_**leralonde, Pghj2005, Joee1, vectis, ziggy3, Elfinabottle, and CAH.**_** Also, thank you to **_**MC**_** for weighing in on Episode 2. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you unless you have disabled the private messaging feature.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**The idea for this particular story came out of an email exchange between myself and **_**CAH**_**. Thank you, **_**CAH**_**.**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly is the beta reader for **_**Parallel Quest**_**, but shorter pieces are posted without a reader. If you catch any errors, please let me know.**

**Episode 18: Weathering the Weather**

Erestor prided himself on keeping his countenance no matter what the circumstances, but he grimaced as Elrond plucked another thorn from his seat. It was not only the pain but the embarrassment of having been thrown off his horse into the middle of a briar patch that so disturbed Erestor's equanimity. His distress was deepened by the fact that Glorfindel, as an interested spectator, was keeping up a running commentary on the removal of the thorns.

"Have you considered volunteering to serve the seamstress as a pincushion?" Glorfindel said helpfully as Erestor winced yet again.

"Glorfindel," murmured Elrond, "haven't you any swords to sharpen?"

"I much prefer honing my rapier wit," Glorfindel replied cheerfully.

"I recommend," Elrond retorted, "that you sheathe your sword."

"It is too early for sword sheathing," Glorfindel replied insouciantly. "I always sheathe mine whilst the moon rides high overhead."

Elrond raised a patented eyebrow. "Glorfindel, I seem to remember that once, when you journeyed far to the south, to the land of the thorn trees, you managed to back into one such tree and became so entangled that your fellows had to cut you from your cloak. I also seem to remember that on an expedition to the Northern Waste you had an encounter with a spiny creature. I believe the Dúnedain call it a 'quill pig' or some such uncouth name."

"Ah, yes, the quill pig—otherwise known as the porcupine," Erestor said eagerly, momentarily diverted from his pain. "And those thorn trees, they are a species of acacia—or wattle trees as the more rustic folk are wont to say."

Erestor began to wax eloquent over the numerous species of acacia and on the mating habits of quill pigs, and it was this, and not Elrond's warning eyebrow, that at last drove Glorfindel from the chamber. After his departure, Erestor, who had suppressed every groan, now felt free to vocalize his discomfort, something he would not lower himself to do in the presence of the balrog-slayer. "Ow ow ow OW!" he exclaimed as Elrond dug out a thorn that was embedded particularly deeply. Partly to distract Erestor, and partly to satisfy his own curiosity, Elrond prompted Erestor to explain how he had managed to land in the middle of briar patch. After all, Erestor, although not the finest rider in Rivendell, was still an Elf, and Elves did not usually come off their horses.

"Elflings," Erestor said gloomily. "Playing at Orcs and Dwarves. Bolted right in front of my horse. Elladan came pelting out first—he was the Dwarf—and then out shot Anomen and Elrohir, shrieking like the worst sort of goblins."

Now, in point of fact, all goblins are the 'worst sort', so Erestor had uttered a 'distinction without a difference'. Elrond, however, let that pass. "So," he said encouragingly, "the younglings affrighted your horse, which reared and unseated you."

"Affrighted my horse!" Erestor exclaimed indignantly. "The steed is worthy of the rider, who is fearless! No, Elrohir tripped and fell right under my mount's nose, and the steed reared to avoid trampling the scamp. You must own that it was very noble of him, even at the cost of sending me tumbling into the briars."

"And it is very noble of you to say so," Elrond said gravely. "There now—that's the last of the thorns," he added, holding up a wickedly curved specimen. "I imagine you will wish to dine privately tonight."

"Yes," Erestor agreed, suddenly gloomy again. "I cannot imagine sitting at table—or anywhere else for that matter. Elrond, I believe I must absent myself from the schoolroom for a time. I suppose I could stand up the livelong day, but my mind will be on my behind."

Both of Elrond's eyebrows shot up at the rhyme in the latter phrase, but he refrained from commenting, for he suspected that it had not been Erestor's intention to wax poetic.

"I am very sorry to leave you in the lurch," the tutor continued. "Those elflings require a great deal of supervision, and I fear they will run riot in my absence."

"I shall press Glorfindel into duty," Elrond replied. "He may keep them busy on the training field. Glorfindel is always anxious that the elflings should make greater progress in weapons training, so he can have no cause for complaint if I put them in his charge for several days."

To the tutor, this was not the ideal solution. He and the weapons master were forever vying with one another. Each wished to prove that the elflings made the greatest progress under _his_ tutelage. Now it seemed that Glorfindel would have the elflings for several days entire, whereas hitherto the mornings had been reserved for Erestor's instruction.

The tutor nodded glumly. He had no choice but to accept Elrond's solution, for he knew he would be too sore on the morrow to perform his duties, and probably for several days thereafter, as well. Groaning, he arose and limped to his bedchamber, where he spent an uncomfortable night upon his stomach instead of reclining upon the plump pillows that were his one indulgence.

Elrond, meanwhile, went in search of Glorfindel to inform him that the elflings would be under his tutelage both morning and afternoon. Hearing the news, Glorfindel gloated. "That is not very charitable of you," Elrond remarked, but the balrog-slayer was unmoved. He continued triumphant throughout dinner, telling one and all that the elflings would be making great progress "now that they did not have to waste their time over musty tomes." By the end of the meal, Elrond's eyebrows were quirking furiously, and he was wringing the one adornment that he wore, a ring whose gem invariably matched the color of his eyes, whose blue shifted according to his mood.

The next morning, Glorfindel's triumph turned to chagrin. Unexpectedly, the wind changed, and a storm that had been passing to the north blew into Imladris and settled itself atop Rivendell, dumping bucketfuls of water into the valley and swamping the gardens.

"I cannot instruct the elflings in such weather," the balrog-slayer fretted. "The rain is so heavy that they will be unable to make out their targets, and as for sword practice, the ground is so slick and muddy that they will be unable to keep their footing."

"Nevertheless," replied Elrond, "you have promised to mind the elflings and mind them you must, for I cannot. A trade delegation has arrived from Rohan, and I will be closeted with the humans all the livelong day."

"But how am I to occupy them?" protested Glorfindel. "There is nothing for the elflings to do in the armory. By your orders they polished all the armor a fortnight ago in punishment for their latest pranks."

"You have always opined that it is a simple matter to supervise the schoolroom," Elrond said, smiling, "and now you have an opportunity to prove the truth of those words."

Grumbling, Glorfindel led the elflings, no less reluctant, to the schoolroom. He was resolved, however, not to prove less worthy a master than Erestor, so as soon as the elflings were ensconced upon their stools, the balrog-slayer commenced to lesson them. Erestor had left a book on his desk open to his last lecture, and Glorfindel grimly picked up at the point where his rival had left off.

"I see that you have been studying Westron," he observed. "It is good for a warrior to know that language, for on occasion our fighters join forces with Men against our common enemies. Now, then, it appears that the Lord Erestor was teaching you Westron terms that apply to the weather. I am going to dictate several sentences on that subject."

The elflings sighed and took up their quills. Any hope they might have had that a lesson taught by the balrog-slayer would be livelier than one taught by Erestor was dashed by this announcement of a dictation exercise.

"The weather was rainy," intoned Glorfindel.

Scritch scritch scritch.

"The weather was snowy," Glorfindel continued.

Scritch scritch scritch.

"The weather was hot."

Scritch scritch scritch.

Glorfindel arose and walked to Elrohir's desk. Looking over the elfling's shoulder, the balrog-slayer frowned. "Elrohir, you have misspelled 'weather' in each and every one of your sentences—a particularly egregious error, given that the exercise is, in fact, on the _subject_ of weather."

Elrohir studied his parchment. He wrinkled up his face. "Lord Glorfindel, I do not see the error." The elfling read his first sentence aloud: "The weather was rainy." He looked up at Glorfindel. "See, isn't that pronounced correctly?"

"I know that you have pronounced that word as if it were 'weather', but you have in fact written 'wether', which is to say, a castrated sheep or goat."

"I didn't write anything at all about a castrated sheep or goat," Elrohir argued. "The sentence doesn't read, 'The weather lacked balls."

"Testicles," Glorfindel corrected. "The wether lacked testicles."

"But you didn't ask us to write that sentence," Elladan interjected. "You asked us to write about the weather, and Elrohir copied down what you said on the subject!"

"No, he wrote about a wether," said Glorfindel, who, in possession of both his testicles, was beginning to feel a little testy.

"Lord Glorfindel," protested Anomen, "Elrohir can't have written about a wether; it wouldn't make sense to write, 'The wether was rainy'!"

"Exactly, which is why Elrohir should have written his sentence about the weather!"

"Which he did!" chorused the elflings.

Glorfindel decided to gird up his loins, metaphorically speaking, and try again. "The two words sound the same," he explained, "but they are spelled differently. In Westron, a castrated goat or sheep is a 'wether'—w-e-t-h-e-r—whereas 'weather' is spell w-e-a-t-h-e-r. You must follow the spelling for the word intended, regardless of whether it shares a pronunciation with another word."

"Is that last sentence, is it 'weather' or 'weather'?" Anomen asked slyly.

"What are you on about now?" asked Glorfindel, perplexed.

"You said, 'regardless of whether it shares a pronunciation with another word'. I was merely wondering whether you meant 'wether' or 'weather'."

"I meant 'whether'—w-h-e-t-h-e-r," Glorfindel grumbled, "as you very well know."

"There's one," cried Elladan.

"One what?" asked Glorfindel.

"And there's another one!" shouted Elrohir.

"Another what?"

"Another pair, which is another one, too," giggled Anomen.

And there's _another_ one!" chortled Elrohir.

"Explain yourself," demanded Glorfidel, who was becoming increasingly exasperated.

"Know and no," said Elrohir, "and one and won, pair and pear, too and to."

"And pare," Elladan added helpfully. "Don't forget pare. And two, too."

"Also there and their," Anomen chimed in.

"There are so many of these pairs," complained Elrohir.

"So, sew, and sow," Anomen said promptly.

"Pairs and trios," Elrohir corrected himself. "Lord Glorfindel, how are we to learn to write Westron when so many words sound alike but are spelled differently? Why can't the humans settle on the same spellings for the same sounds?"

"We wee write right but butt for four," chanted Elladan cheerfully. "I meant 'butt' as in a cask," the elfling said hastily as Glorfindel opened his mouth to chide him.

"And sometimes," Anomen pointed out, "humans _do_ use the same spellings—but the meanings or the pronunciations differ—sometimes both! The 'wind' that blows through the trees is spelled exactly the same as when musicians 'wind' their trumpets or archers 'wind' their crossbows."

"And consider 'to read' and 'to have read'," Elrohir said. "The one sounds like 'rede', the other like red, but both are spelled the same."

"I will concede," said Glorfindel, "that humans are inconsistent in their spelling—as they are in so many other matters. Howsomever, it is important to spell according to rule."

"If the spellings of humans are inconsistent, then how can there be said to _be_ a rule?"Anomen asked.

"Be bee," chirruped Elladan. Glorfindel glared at him. "Oh, dear, I have done it now," murmured Elladan, looking down hastily at his parchment. "Deer," he added in a whisper as he picked up his quill.

"Nevertheless," Glorfindel said firmly, "it is needful for you to learn the different spellings. For this you must employ memorization if logic will not serve. If you do not, how are the folk that receive your messages to understand what you mean?"

"Why may not folk understand written missives the same way they understand spoken ones?" Anomen asked. "Just now I understood what you meant by the word 'mean'. I knew you didn't mean 'cruel' even though in writing a word spelled the exact same way has that meaning. And I reckon you knew what I meant by the word 'knew' even though it sounds like a word for 'fresh' or 'novel'."

"I do see that it is possible to tell a word's meaning by the way it is used in a spoken sentence," Glorfindel agreed reluctantly. ("See sea," whispered Elladan to his parchment.)

"Then why should writing be treated any differently?" Anomen asked. "All words that sound alike could be spelled alike without confusing a reader. Contra, as long as the spelling approximates the sounds of the intended word, any spelling ought to do. Let the color 'red' be spelled 'read', let the verb 'read' be spelled 'red'."

Glorfindel hesitated. He was sure there was a flaw in Anomen's reasoning, but all his years of experience on the battlefield did not furnish him with the examples he would need to rebut the elfling's argument. Encouraged by the balrog-slayer's silence, Anomen continued. "Regardless of spelling, in such cases it is easy to tell which is which," he said. ("Which witch?" murmured Elladan, peeking up from his parchment.)

Anomen went on. "I have another example. If I say that I shot several hares, no one thinks that I have severed someone's locks."

"You are overlooking an example," Elrohir pointed out. "A lock of hair is spelled exactly the same as the lock one locks."

Elladan could contain himself no longer. "More than that! Lock, lock, and the action lock," he giggled.

Glorfindel broke his own silence. "Verb," he said desperately. "The latter is a verb. Let us talk about the distinction between nouns and verbs."

"Oh," Anomen said innocently. "You mean, as in 'The cook cooks'?"

"Yes," said Elrohir grinning. "I know a verb: The gardener gardens in the garden."

"The fisher fished for fishes," shouted Elladan. "There's a verb in there somewhere," he added slyly.

Glorfindel made as if to brush a stray hair from his forehead, albeit not with a brush but with his hand, which seemed to be trembling a little.

"Perhaps I shall leave the verbs to Lord Erestor," he muttered.

"And the 'leaves' that are nouns, too?" smirked Elrohir.

Glorfindel somehow failed to hear Elrohir's question. He returned to the desk. "Ah," he said in relief, picking up a sheaf of papers. "I see that you have been studying poetry. Let me hear one of you recite a poem."

"Baa," bleated Elladan. "I'm one of ewe," he explained when Glorfindel stared at him. "I will recite a poem," he said hastily as Glorfindel began to arise from the desk. "I know a Westron poem shall serve very nicely," he added.

The elfling arose and stood formally, hands clasped before him. He took a deep breath and began to recite:

A flea and a fly in a flue  
Were imprisoned, so what could they do?  
Said the fly, "let us flee!"  
"Let us fly!" said the flea.  
So they flew through a flaw in the flue.

Glorfindel turned red to the very tips of his pointed ears, and Elladan sat down hastily. At that moment, the bell for the noon meal rang. Elladan jumped up as hastily as he had sat down and fled—flew—from the room. Hard on his heels his brothers flew after him. Behind them, Glorfindel dropped his head upon the desk and groaned.

When Glorfindel entered the Dining Hall, he discovered that Gandalf had arrived. Glorfindel took a seat beside the wizard and listened, half distracted, as the Istar complained of the weather. "The moment I crossed into Imladris," the wizard reported, "I found myself in a torrential rain. Rain was cascading off the brim of my hat, and I could scarcely see to put one foot in front of the other." ('Rain rein reign', Elladan thought to himself as he helped himself to a generous serving of pudding.)

"Your suffering on account of the weather is as nothing when compared to mine," Glorfindel said gloomily. "I have been closeted in the schoolroom with those scamps yonder. I do not know how Erestor endures such confinement day in and day out!" ('In inn', Elladan thought cheerfully.)

Sitting nearby, Elrond listened and idly twisted the ring on his finger. Suddenly Glorfindel gave a shout. "The sun! The sun!" he shouted.

"Whose son would that be?" Elladan giggled, breaking his careful silence.

"There is a son who will not enjoy the sun if he is not careful," Elrond murmured. Elladan suddenly became engrossed in swirling his spoon about his pudding.

"You are right, Glorfindel," Elrond addressed the balrog-slayer. "It seems the wind has shifted and blown away the storm clouds."

"I shall be able to take the elflings outside to practice their archery. Praise Eru that the accursed clouds have moved on to bedevil someone else!"

"I am surprised at you, Elrond," Gandalf said later that evening as he stood on the balcony of Elrond's chamber enjoying a spectacular sunset. "I never expected that you would use Vilya, the Ring of Air, to intervene in a matter as trivial as the rivalry between Erestor and Glorfindel."

"I will own," Elrond admitted ruefully, "that my use of the Ring in this fashion was probably not what Celebrimbor had in mind when he forged it. However, be honest, Mithrandir: have you never used Narya to improve the quality of your fireworks?"

Gandalf colored a little and admitted that he had on occasion made use of the Ring of Fire to enhance his pyrotechnics. "But consider, Elrond, that I must have an opportunity to practice my magic so that when I draw upon Narya in earnest, I will be able to do so efficaciously."

"Ah," replied Elrond, raising an eyebrow, "if that is the case, may I not make the same argument? If I must someday employ the Ring of Air at need, I shall do so all the better because I used it to teach Glorfindel a lesson. As Men are wont to say, I have killed two birds with one stone. Glorfindel will no longer belittle the role that Erestor plays in the schoolroom; as for myself, I have assayed my command over Vilya's power."

Congratulating themselves over their judicious use of their respective rings, the two friends raised a toast to Celebrimbor, forger of the Three. It would be the last time, however, that either would be as sanguine on the subject of a Ring. For now, though, they allowed themselves to be as light-hearted as the elflings, who giggled as they prepared for bed.

"What does a butterfly have in common with a candle?" asked Anomen as he put out his own candle.

"They are both light," Elrohir answered promptly. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

"They are both supplied with quills," Elladan said. "Why is a goldsmith like a stone throne into a pond?'

"Too easy," scoffed Anomen. "They both make rings!"

And with the word 'rings' ringing in their ears, our elflings fell into sleep, with no fell beings in their sleep, and slept until morn, with nothing to mourn. Reader, would that all riddles might be solved so easily!


	19. Chapter 19: Rain or Shine

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Episode 18: **_**leralonde, Vanime18431, Ne'ith5, jellebie, Joee1, Damatris, and CAH.**_** I am delighted to receive any and all responses. If reviewers are logged in I normally use the reply feature to send a note to each unless he or she has disabled the private messaging feature. I confess to being behind in sending these notes, but I promise to get back into the habit of responding to reviews.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit **_**and**_** The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**. **

**The idea for this particular story came out of an email exchange between myself and **_**CAH**_**. Thank you, **_**CAH**_**.**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly is the beta reader for **_**Parallel Quest**_**, but shorter pieces are posted without a reader. If you catch any errors, please let me know.**

**Vocabulary**

**anon—a large door or gate (Sindarin)**

**annabon—elephant (Sindarin)**

**and—long (Sindarin) **

**ant—gift (Sindarin) **

**burzum—darkness (Black Speech) **

**elleth, ellith—elf maiden, elf maidens (Sindarin)**

**ellon—male Elf (Sindarin)**

**forodren—northern (Sindarin)**

**forodrim—Northmen (Sindarin) **

**Manwë—the Blessed One, the principle deity of the Valar pantheon (Quenya)**

**Episode 19: Rain or Shine**

After Celebrían had departed for the Undying Lands, Elrond diligently set himself to the task of raising Arwen and the twins by himself. "I can do this," he told himself, and he woke early each morning to anxiously superintend the elflings' rising and did not relax his vigilance until planting a goodnight kiss upon the forehead of each of his children. Indeed, his vigilance extended beyond their bedtime. Many a night he arose and slipped to their rooms, gazing in upon them to reassure himself that they were well—particularly on blustery nights when an elfling might be awakened by the crash of a falling tree or the wuthering of the wind.

After several months of such continual vigilance, even an Elf may begin to look worn, and so it was with Elrond. This fact did not go unnoticed by Erestor and Glorfindel.

"I came upon a scrap of parchment that Elladan has scribbled upon," Erestor said one morning, "and I must say that I saw some promise in his hand. Elrond, Lindir has joined the scouts and therefore is less and less available as an amanuensis. I am of a mind to give Elladan a trial."

"But he is too young," protested Elrond.

"Nonsense," Erestor replied. "If an Elf is to develop a good hand, he must begin at a young age. Do indulge me, Elrond. Allow me Elladan's services in the morning."

Elrond had another objection. "Elladan will be loath to be parted from his twin."

"In that case," Erestor said quickly, "allow me the use of both of them. You will be doing me a great favor, Elrond."

Now, Elrond would have hesitated to impose upon his friend, but framed as the matter was, he was finding it difficult to refuse. He tried one more tack, however. "Arwen will feel left out," he said.

"I have a solution," answered Erestor. "An elleth should learn to write no less than an ellon. After the noon meal, let Arwen come to the study for lessons. I will make certain that the chosen exercises are suitable for one so young."

"And while Arwen is occupied in the study," Glorfindel joined in, "allow the twins to accompany me to the training fields so that I may instruct them in riding, archery, and the proper use of the sword. As they are your sons, it is needful that they excel at these skills."

Elrond again objected that the twins were too young.

"As Erestor has said," Glorfindel replied, "if an Elf is to develop a good hand, he must begin at a young age—whether the hand clutch a pen or a rein."

Having lost his wife, Elrond was reluctant to let his children out of his sight, but Elladan and Glorfindel patiently reasoned with him until he conceded that they were right. The next morning Elladan and Elrohir therefore accompanied Erestor from the breakfast table to the room that the elder Elf called his study and which was to be, for the next several decades, the schoolroom in which Elrond's children would learn everything from astronomy to zoology. Then, in the afternoon, while Elladan and Elrohir accompanied Glorfindel to the training fields, Arwen learned her letters. For several weeks, during the mornings Elrond anxiously kept Arwen by his side, but Glorfindel and Erestor continued to gently pressed him on the subject of her education, reminding him that Arwen, no less than her brothers, needed to become an accomplished rider; and at last Arwen was provided with a riding master and began to spend most mornings on her pony.

Once the elflings began to spend time on these pursuits, the effect on Eldond—and on Imladris—was both immediate and salutary. Wrapped up as he had been in the needs of his children, Elrond had neglected both his own needs and those of the realm for which he was responsible. Now, as he took time to indulge in some of his favorite pastimes—perusing his books, strolling in the garden, contemplating the artwork that adorned Rivendell—the Elf lord lost his harried look, and his forehead was no longer perpetually furrowed. As for Imladris, its atmosphere improved—not only figuratively but literally. During the time that Elrond had anxiously superintended Arwen and the twins, the breezes that freshened the valley had faltered, and the air had become sultry and oppressive. Moreover, when the winds died, heavy and dark clouds had been directly overhead, and they had remained lowering over the valley so that no sunlight reached the grasses and the trees, which were yellowing for want of the life-giving rays. Oddly, though, no rain had fallen from the looming clouds, and the plants, deprived equally of sun and rain, had wilted.

When a gentle rain at last began to water the barren earth, Glorfindel and Erestor went out to stand side by side in the garden.

"A few more days of drought and we might have lost the harvest," Erestor observed somberly.

"I believe you are right," Glorfindel agreed. Usually he delighted in quibbling with Erestor, but in this case the evidence was incontrovertible that Elrond's distracted state of mind had come close to spoiling the crops planted in the valley and on the lower slopes of the mountains surrounding Imladris. Together, the two friends were exceedingly relieved that their intervention had helped restore balance both in the life of Elrond and in the life of the realm that he ruled.

Elrond, when he became used to the new regime, was also exceedingly relieved. Not only did he have some time to himself, but he was better able to concentrate on his duties. Soon after the departure of Celebrían, he had been so distracted that he had unwittingly signed an agreement with a trade delegation from Rhûn on terms very unfavorable to the Elves. (This was during a rare period of détente between the Easterlings and the Free Folk of Arda.)

"Elrond!" Glorfindel had exclaimed as he looked over the treaty. "We will be forced to drink nothing but mead for the next twelve month, for you have traded away our entire stock of Dorwinion wine!"

Elrond looked over Glorfindel's shoulder and examined the passage that his friend was jabbing with his finger. "Mead is a flavorful drink," the elf lord said sheepishly, as he took in the import of the document's wording.

"Consider, Glorfindel," said Erestor, trying to be supportive of the crestfallen master of Rivendell. "We might have been left with nothing but beer."

All three of the Elves shuddered. Although, as Elves go, the Eldar of Rivendell were remarkably tolerant, their open-mindedness did not extend to the Naugrim's beverages: the various ales, lagers, and stouts that the Dwarves happily guzzled in preference to the wines sipped by the Fair Folk.

Now, however, Elrond was unlikely to make the same mistake when negotiating with ambassadors from distant lands. When he met with such trade delegations, he did so undistracted, secure in the knowledge that his children were superintended by his trusted friends. This excellent state of affairs lasted for several decades, and the arrival of Anomen did nothing to change the arrangement. The young Elf took his place in the schoolroom under the tutelage of Erestor and on the training field under the governance of Glorfindel.

It must be said, however, that after Anomen's arrival things became much livelier at both venues. "The elfling from Mordor," Glorfindel was heard to mutter on more than one occasion after Anomen had precipitated chaos amongst a class of neophyte warriors. "It would take more parchment than I possess," Erestor complained to Elrond one day, "to record all the scrapes Anomen gets into."

To be fair, Anomen was not the only malefactor. Elrohir was always eager to join in any mischief, and Elladan was not unwilling. Not surprisingly, then, after several decades of superintending such lively charges, both Glorfindel and Erestor were badly in need of a holiday. For Erestor, the opportunity came when he completed copying a volume that Galadriel had requested for her library in Lothlórien. "Elrond," he said one evening in the Hall of Fire, "I believe the volume on the natural history of Eriador is much too precious to be entrusted to a messenger. I myself shall deliver it into the hands of the Lady of the Golden Wood."

Elrond lowered the goblet that he had been raising to his lips and looked at his friend in surprise. Erestor had always been what Men would call a 'homebody', taking pleasure in domestic doings, with no interest in journeying beyond the boundaries of Imladris." Once Elrond had recovered from his surprise, however, he at once divined the real reason for the tutor's proposed journey: Erestor was badly in need of a respite from his responsibilities as a tutor. Elrond suddenly realized how long it had been since he had had to concern himself with the supervision of the elflings, and just as suddenly he recognized that he had not thanked Erestor and Glorfindel for their kindness in a very long time. At the outset he had been voluble in his gratitude for the kind offices of Erestor and Glorfindel when it came to the raising of his children; gradually, however, he had grown complacent on the subject.

"My dear friend," he said apologetically, "of course you must take the manuscript to Lothlórien. You shall depart as soon as you wish, and remain in Lórien as long as you like."

Elrond spoke so kindly that now Erestor felt bad at the thought of leaving the elflings without a tutor. "You are quite sure?" he worried. "Who will look after young ones in my absence?"

"Do not trouble yourself on that score," Elrond reassured him.

Erestor, however, was just the sort of person who _did_ trouble himself. "Perhaps," he said anxiously, "Glorfindel might be prevailed upon to supervise Anomen and the twins for the entirety of each day. And Arwen, she may be superintended by one of the ellith when she is not with the riding master—although, to be sure, Arwen has advanced so far in maturity that she hardly needs any supervision."

True, Elrond thought to himself. In fact, Arwen was so near to adulthood that Elrond had begun contemplating sending her to Lothlórien to dwell with her grandmother. Such a sojourn would be the elven equivalent of a 'finishing school' for the young maiden.

Now, however, he sought to ameliorate Erestor's worries. "Do not fret, my friend. The young ones will be looked after. As you suggest, I will ask Glorfindel whether he would be willing to supervise them both in the morning and in the afternoon.

At this very moment, though, Glorfindel was making his own plans. "Tracks of our foes within three day's march?" he said happily to a scout who had just returned and was making his report. "I shall have to look into this myself. Yes, it is too important a matter to be left to anyone else!" The balrog slayer arose and hurried to the Hall of Fire. Erestor had left this chamber to pack for his journey to Lothlórien, and Elrond was again raising his goblet of wine to his lips. For the second time he lowered his cup—this time in dismay—when Glorfindel announced that he was going out on patrol. "I may be gone for weeks," the balrog slayer said cheerfully. 'So I am to be deprived of both the mainstays of my household', Elrond thought to himself ruefully. Aloud, however, he spoke encouragingly to his friend. "In such a case," Elrond agreed, "you must take as many days as are necessary to track the markings to their source."

"You don't mind that I will not be here to superintendent the elflings in archery and sword practice?" said Glorfindel, suddenly conscience-stricken at the thought that he was abandoning his friend.

"I shall make shift," Elrond assured him. "Moreover, the elflings are older than when you first stepped in to assist me in their upbringing. That will go a long way toward making the situation manageable."

Privately Glorfindel thought to himself that matters had not been improved by the fact that the elflings had grown. 'As they have aged, they have become more and more adept at getting round the rules. Will Elrond be able to manage, I wonder?'

Elrond saw where Glorfindel's worried thoughts were taking him. He spoke up quickly to encourage his friend to leave his plans unchanged.

"I know that I am not as able a master as you are upon the training field," Elrond said. "Still, I am sure no great misadventures will occur in your absence. The worst that may happen is that the elflings do not progress as rapidly as they would have under your tutelage. However, as they are immortal, they shall have ample time to catch up."

Glorfindel looked a little doubtful. "But you have your duties," he said anxiously. "How can you look after the elflings and still meet with delegations and tend to your other responsibilities. Perhaps," he added, "Erestor might be prevailed upon to supervise Anomen and the twins for the entirety of each day. His skill with sword and bow is only middling, but, as you have said, the worst that may happen is that the elflings do not progress as rapidly as they would have under my tutelage."

"No doubt some arrangement may be made," Elrond said noncommittally, unwilling to let on that Erestor, too, would be absent from Rivendell.

"You are certain?" Glorfindel said.

"I am certain," Elrond said firmly.

The next morning Elrond got up early to see Glorfindel off as the balrog slayer, accompanied by a small party of scouts, rode away to the north. Next he hurried to Erestor's room to take farewell of the tutor before he and his guard departed for the south. Then he made his way to the Dining Hall, where the elflings were already in their seats, eagerly eyeing the dishes that they could not touch until the adults took their places. They looked surprised when the dishes were uncovered even though Glorfindel and Erestor were absent. Elrond answered their querying looks.

"The Lords Erestor and Glorfindel will be absent for several weeks. Each has an important task to attend to."

"A holiday!" exclaimed Elrohir, grinning.

"Yes, but not for you," Elrond said calmly. Elrohir's face fell, and his brothers looked disappointed. Only Arwen continued to happily eat her porridge.

"If our masters are absent," Elladan said, "to whom shall we answer?"

"You will answer to me," Elrond replied evenly.

The elflings exchanged uncertain glances as they tried to decide whether this was a favorable turn of events. On the one hand, their Adar could be stern in his expectations. On the other hand, Elrond could not know precisely what Erestor and Glorfindel demanded of the elflings. It was well known that an army familiar with a battlefield possessed an advantage over a force lacking an intimate knowledge of the front line. After pondering for a few minutes, the elflings reached an unspoken consensus: with any luck at all they should be able to take advantage of their knowledge to 'steal a march' on their father. Cockily, the elflings piled high their plates and began to enjoy their food. Elrond noted their smugness and raised one of his eyebrows, his quizzical expression the outward sign of quickened vigilance.

After breakfast, Arwen accompanied her riding master to the stable, and Anomen and the twins trailed after Elrond as he led them to the schoolroom. There each elfling perched himself upon his accustomed stool and assumed an innocent expression. Elrond's second eyebrow joined the first. It was known that an innocent expression upon the face of elfling was a portent of mischief. Anxious to forestall any elfling escapades, Elrond immediately set his pupils to work composing letters of thanks to Galadriel and Celeborn, who had sent each elfling a new bow and quiver. After a little while, as Erestor would have done, Elrond began to walk up and down the schoolroom, looking over each pupil's work. He stopped at Elladan's stool. "Elladan," he said, "why have you written that your bow is so powerful that it could slay an _anon_, a great door or gate?"

"I didn't," Elladan protested. "I have written that my bow is so powerful that it could slay an _annabon_, an elephant from the far south."

"Then you have written hastily," Elrond reproved him, "for, see, _anon_ has only four letters, whilst _annabon_ has seven. It seems that you have left out the middle three letters, so: an-nab-on."

Elladan stared chagrined at his paper. In his haste to write his letter, he had been careless. Now he would have to start over again.

Elrond moved on to Elrohir's stool. "What is this?" he exclaimed, pointing at the word _and_.

"I am thanking my grandfather and my grandmother for the giftthey sent me," Elrohir explained.

Elrond shook his head. They sent you an _ant_, not an _and_. One means gift; the other is the adjective long. They did not send you a long!"

"The bow is long," Elrohir pointed out. "So they _did_ send me a long!"

"One cannot send a quality," Elrond replied. "One can only send an object that has that quality."

"But when I send the object, I am sending the quality, too," Elrohir argued.

"Nevertheless," Elrond replied firmly, "one must specify the thing, for, properly speaking, only something of substance can be the object of a verb."

"But I am not speaking. I am writing," Elrohir answered quickly.

"Speaking or writing," Elrond replied a little sharply. "One neither says nor writes, 'The master spanked the naughty'; one says or writes, 'The master spanked the naughty pupil'."

At this Elrohir promptly picked up pen and began to rewrite his letter. It is true that humans are much more likely to spank their offspring than are Elves, but Elrohir was not anxious to be the exception that proved the rule.

Elrond now moved on to Anomen. As he looked over the elfling's parchment, one of his eyebrows twitched alarmingly. "Anomen, what is this that you have written about the 'Northmen border'?"

"No, Ada," Anomen corrected. "The northern border. That is what I meant."

"What you meant and what you wrote are two different matters," Elrond replied, the other eyebrow now twitching in concert with the first. "For, see, you have written _forodrim_, Northmen, rather than _forodren_, northern."

"Perhaps," Anomen said hopefully, "I could merely amend that word and so not recopy the entire letter."

"You will not send a blotted page to the Lord and the Lady," Elrond said sternly.

Sighing, Anomen bent over his desk, joining his brothers in the laborious recopying of his letter.

Elrond went to Erestor's desk and seated himself, resolving that he, too, would now devote himself to his correspondence. But it seemed that every few minutes an elfling would raise his hand and importune him regarding some matter. Either elflings were begging leave to visit the garderobe, or they were running out of ink and parchment, or their quills needed mending, or they needed to shift their seats so that their parchments would be illuminated by the rays of the sun as that orb slowly advanced across the sky. Thus, like the sun the elflings were making slow progress on their correspondence, and Elrond was making even slower progress on _his_.

At long last, however, Anomen and the twins finished their letters. Elrond decided that, now that task was done, he ought to seize the opportunity to visit the garderobe himself. "I will be back shortly," he told his charges. "In my absence, you must read."

"What shall we read?" inquired Elladan.

Elrond, who really _did_ need to go to the garderobe, answered hastily. "Anything you like," he called over his shoulder as he fled the room.

As one, the elflings looked up at the top of a bookcase where Erestor kept a book that they were not allowed to peruse. "Ada did say we might read anything we liked," Elladan pointed out. "Yes," grinned Elrohir. "Quick, Anomen! Bring over that stool."

Anomen looked a little uneasy, but he picked up the stool and carried it to the bookcase. Elrohir climbed upon it and stretched forth his hand. The book was just a little out of his reach. He looked about. "Elladan," he ordered, "fetch that volume of the history of Eriador."

Elladan carried the book over to his brother. Elrohir climbed down, placed the thick volume upon the stool, and with Elladan and Anomen's help he climbed back up again. "I can reach it now," he called as his fingertips touched the forbidden volume. Standing on his tiptoes, leaning forward, Elrohir grasped the volume—but the book upon which he was standing slid out from under his feet. He grabbed at the shelf, but it was not designed to bear any substantial weight. Breaking, it fell upon the next shelf, which broke, wood and volumes falling upon the next shelf, which likewise broke. Thus in succession each shelf collapsed, and when Elrond returned to the room, he found Elrohir sitting in a pile of jumbled books and broken boards. "What has happened here?" Elrond demanded.

"I was reading a book," Elrohir replied innocently.

This seemingly nonsensical reply put such demands upon Elrond's eyebrows that they darted around his forehead like mice pursued by cats. He felt a headache coming on, something that had not occurred since the Second Age, when a Troll had picked Elrond up by the ankles and dropped him upon his pate (fortunately, he had been wearing a helmet on that occasion).

Just then the bell for the noon meal rang. Relieved, Elrond dismissed the elflings. Then he fled to his chambers, sending word to the Cook that he would dine in his room that day.

A month later, a relaxed Glorfindel rode southward. He and his scouts had successfully tracked the strangers who had been skulking in their realm. These intruders had proved to be Southron spies. After a brief skirmish, the Elves slew their enemies, and now, having secured the borders, they were returning to Imladris.

Meanwhile, Erestor was riding northward. He had delivered the precious manuscript and then lingered in Lothlórien for a time, happily studying the volumes in Galadriel and Celeborn's library. Now, his saddle bag filled with several books gifted him by the Lord and Lady, he was returning reinvigorated to Rivendell.

At the brink of the valley in which nestled the elven settlement of Imladris, the two met up and looked at each other in surprise. "You do not usually ride out this far," Glorfindel said. "I have ridden farther than this," Erestor replied. "I have been in Lothlórien these past several weeks."

"Lothlórien!" exclaimed Glorfindel. "Who has been minding the elflings?"

"I thought _you_ were minding the elflings," retorted Erestor.

"I have been away tracking our foes," replied Glorfindel. "I thought it was _you_ who were in charge of those scamps!"

The two looked down into the valley and for the first time realized that an angry cloud lowered above the Great Hall, rumbling and spitting rain.

"I have been gone a month," Glorfindel said nervously. "How long have you been away?"

"The same," Erestor said morosely.

"Manwë!" exclaimed Glorfindel.

"It is not necessary to swear," Erestor chided him.

Several hours later, Erestor stood surveying the wreckage of his study.

"Manwë!" he swore. "Burzum," he added under his breath.

It took several days before the chaos in the study was reduced to order, and several additional days before the flooded garden dried sufficiently for the Gardener to replace the plants and bushes that had moldered in the rain that began to pour without let after Elrond had spent a fortnight superintending the elflings.

"I do not know whether it is worse to have too little or too much rain," said Glorfindel as he and Erestor enjoyed a stroll in the newly replanted garden.

"Each is equally bad," Erestor replied. "The rains failed when Elrond was distraught and desolate; the rains fell in torrents when he was flustered and fuming. Neither is a desirable state."

Glorfindel agreed, and then and there the two pledged that one would always remain at Imladris in the absence of the other. If Glorfindel were away on patrol, then nothing would induce Erestor to travel to Lothlórien; likewise, Glorfindel would never set out upon a journey unless he were certain that Erestor planned to remain in Rivendell. Did these precautions prevent any and all elfling misadventures in the future? It would be a lie to say that they did. Still, after much massaging of his forehead, on this one occasion at least Elrond was able to return his brows to a position reasonably near his eyes—and there they stayed for at least a fortnight!


	20. Chapter 20: Merriment and Melancholy

**My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.**

**This story depends upon the fact that before the time period covered by The Lord of the Rings, an earlier Denethor and an earlier Boromir served as Stewards of Gondor. It is the earlier Denethor and the earlier Boromir that Elrond and Anomen are discussing.  
**

**Thanks to the following reviewers of Episode 19 of **_**Elfling Interludes**_**: **_**Caspian 'Casp' Kaist, Damatris, Ne'ith5, Joee1, leralonde, **_**and **_**CAH**_**. I would also like to thank _WingCo . Vinyaya aka Lizinsky _****for a review of Episode 8.**** Thanks also to ****these recent reviewers: **_**Beverly**_**, of Chapter 8 of **_**Elfling Retribution**_**; **_**Chrys**_**, of **_**A Friendship Transcending Death**_**, and **_**Maiden**_**, of episode 15 of **_**Elf Interludes**_**. Since they weren't logged in, I couldn't send them replies, so I thought I'd acknowledge them here.**

**Today I began answering the backlog of reviews. I am working backwards, and I have now replied to everyone who sent in a review from November 1, 2010, onward, plus the reviewers of Episode 19 of **_**Elfling Interludes**_** and ****_WingCo . Vinyaya_**_** aka Lizinsky's **_** review of Episode 8 that came in around the same time. It will probably take me all of Christmas break to catch up with everyone. Meanwhile, I do want to assure people that I read and am grateful for every review.**

**This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of **_**The Hobbit**_** and **_**The Lord of the Rings**_**. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as **_**The Silmarillion**_**.**

**Beta Reader: Dragonfly is the beta reader for Parallel Quest (which I promise I will work on over the Christmas break), but shorter pieces are posted without a reader. If you catch any errors, please let me know.**

**Episode 20: Merriment and Melancholy**

Anomen tried not to yawn, for such a gesture would have aroused Erestor's ire. The tutor had very strict notions about decorum. No matter how tired an elfling felt, he was not to bring 'shame' upon Elrond's household by evincing boredom. The penalty for such ill-manners would be to copy one of the lengthier manuscripts in Erestor's library, and that task would be even more boring than sitting through a banquet. Mindful of that fact, Anomen swung his legs under the table to keep himself alert. Every so often his foot connected with a leg: Elladan and Elrohir were swinging their legs, too, and for the same reason as their foster-brother.

"Anomen," Elrohir whispered, and the younger elfling startled. Elrohir snorted, and then quickly daubed at his mouth with a napkin as Erestor turned his eyes upon him. Then the elfling primly replaced the napkin in his lap whilst smiling innocently at the suspicious tutor.

"I wish we could find some excuse to leave the table," Elrohir whispered when the tutor finally returned his attention to the speaker, an emissary from Gondor who had been droning on at length about the tonnage of goods exchanged between the elves of Imladris and the men of Gondor. "I as well," Anomen whispered back, "but I cannot imagine how we are to do so."

Fortunately, Elrond was mindful of his sons' discomfort. "Anomen," he said suddenly, "if you would: the bread has dwindled to the heel of a loaf, and the Cook needs must be told."

Anomen arose at once. "Of course, Adar-nín," he said smoothly as Elladan and Elrohir looked on enviously. Then he strode from the room, restraining his elation until he had turned the corner. From there he skipped until he reached the kitchen, the domain of the Head Cook, nemesis of Anomen and the twins. The rivalry between elflings and Cook dated back decades, for since Elrohir and Elladan had first begun to walk, they had targeted the kitchen, making off with countless biscuits, tarts, pies, and cakes, and when Anomen joined the household, he had proved as adept as the twins at stealing treats. Mindful of the Cook's grievances, Anomen cautiously peaked in at the door. The Cook at once snatched up a rolling pin and leaped in front of the table whereon cooled the pies that had lately come from the oven. "What do you here?" growled the Cook.

"The Lord Elrond calls for more bread," Anomen said quickly. He glanced at the pies but hastily looked away as the Cook hefted the rolling pin protectively.

The Cook ordered one of his apprentices to carry bread to the feast. Anomen sighed, supposing that, now that his errand was done, he ought to return to the banquet hall. But the Cook suddenly seized the elfing's collar. "Be sure to tell Lord Elrond," he called after the apprentice, "that Master Anomen does not accompany you because the Head Cook insists that he scour pots in requital of the pastries he has stolen."

Anomen cringed, thinking that he would be trapped for hours in the kitchen, but to his surprise the Cook placed before him only two pots. "Pots," said the Cook, emphasizing the 's'. "Plural," he added so that there was no question but that he had spoken the truth when he sent the message to Elrond.

The young elf had had much experience in scouring pots, so he made fast work of the two vessels, finishing just as Elladan poked his head in at the door. Apparently it had escaped Elrond's attention that he could have sent back a message with the Cook's apprentice that the cheese was running short. Instead, that thought had occurred to the elf lord only after the apprentice had delivered the bread and bowed himself from the room. Hence the necessity of sending Elladan in his wake.

As before, the Cook seized the elfling by the scruff of the neck and instructed the apprentice who was now sent to deliver the cheese to convey the message that Elladan had been set to work scrubbing pots. Also as before, the Cook placed before his captive two vessels, neither especially begrimed. Anomen would have offered to scour one, making Elladan's task all the easier, but the Cook forestalled him by placing before him a platter of biscuits. "You there," the Cook growled at Anomen. "I reckon I'd better keep your hands and your mouth busy, lest you get into mischief. Sort these biscuits, setting aside any that are imperfect in any way. Those you had better eat so that they are not again jumbled in amongst the good ones."

Anomen diligently examined each biscuit and found nine that could arguably be described as imperfect on account of tiny cracks or slightly uneven coloring. As he finished his task, Elrohir arrived at the kitchen, having been sent by Elrond with a message that the Cook dispatch more venison to the banquet hall. The Cook instantly collared him and as before ordered him to scrub two pots, although the only ones he could find had been used for boiling soup stock and needed little scouring. Once Elrohir had finished, the three elfling shared the imperfect biscuits, alternating nibbles with sips of the apple cider that was ladled into mugs by the Cook, who muttered as he did so that it would be too much bother to pour the cider from the pitcher back into the barrel—although he did not say how it happened that the cider had been decanted in the first place.

As the elflings finished their biscuits and cider, they heard singing. "The banquet is over," exclaimed Elrohir, grinning. "Now our Ada and his guests have gone to the Hall of Fire," agreed Elladan.

"Let us join them," said Anomen.

Elrohir shook his head vigorously. "Those Gondorians like as not will tell tales as boring as their speeches," he objected.

Elladan promptly agreed with his twin. He had had enough of the company of Men. Anomen, however, was disappointed. Although the banquet had been boring, he had been finding excuses to walk past the chambers where the Gondorians were quartered, and he had overheard laughter and cheerful conversation. Some of the men, especially the younger ones, were jovial and told gests and light-hearted tales.

Reluctantly Anomen went with Elladan and Elrohir to the garden, where the three elflings amused themselves with a shuttlecock. As they played, Anomen could hear laughter and snatches of song. When at last the moonlight waned so that it was too dark to play, the elflings returned to Elrond's Great Hall. Almost immediately, Anomen found an excuse to slip away from his foster-brothers. He claimed that had to return a volume of tales to Erestor's study that very night—this even though he was not always so diligent about returning books! The elfling hurried to Erestor's study and hastily reshelved the book. (Erestor would be unable to find it for more than a fortnight.) Then Anomen raced to the hallway in the wing reserved for guests. As he loitered there, a tall man, his hair brown, his eyes green, strode down the corridor toward one of the chambers. The man greeted the young elf merrily and tousled his hair. Anomen was not fond of having his hair tousled, but he did not resent the gesture.

"That was Hallas son of Cirion," Elrond told Anomen the next day when the young elf described the man to him.

"Master Erestor has told me of Cirion," Anomen said. "He is the Steward of Gondor."

"Yes," said Elrond. "Cirion is a wise man who has won to himself the allegiance of the Éothéod."

"Horse people," Anomen translated.

"Erestor has taught you well," Elrond said approvingly. "Cirion," he went on, returning to the tale, "was hard pressed by his foes and sent a messenger to Eorl, chief of the Éothéod, asking for their aid. At the Battle of the Field of Celebrant, the men of Gondor faced defeat, but in the nick of time the horse people galloped across a ridge, and their charge broke the enemy's lines."

"And in gratitude," Anomen continued the story, "Cirion ceded to Eorl's people a portion of land well suited to pasturage but until thence little populated."

"Yes, my son. Now those regions are known as the land of Rohan, and the people who herd horses therein are called the Rohirrim. They are an honorable and brave folk, and the men of Gondor may someday have reason to be grateful that Cirion has made allies of them. So you say that Hallas was merry," Elrond said, suddenly changing the topic. "I am glad to hear it. I hope he shall escape the ruinous melancholy that tormented his grandfather Boromir and his great-grandfather Denethor."

"Were they melancholy by nature?" Anomen asked. "Or had they cause for their sadness?"

"Denethor had the ill fortune to be Steward when the Watchful Peace came to an end," Elrond replied. "Four-hundred years earlier," he continued, "our Mithrandir had forced Sauron to flee from Dol Goldur, and afterward Gondor was left unmolested for many generations. Alas! In the time of Denethor, Sauron retook Dol Guldur, and his creatures attacked Ithilien and seized Osgiliath."

Ithilien. Osgiliath. Anomen wished he could journey to these far off places. The names were melodious, and Anomen was sure such places must have something of the magical about them.

Elrond smiled at Anomen. "Yes," he said, "Ithilien is a beautiful land. And Osgiliath, even though it was seized by Sauron, was retaken by Denethor's son, Boromir, although it was never restored to its former glory."

"Then for what reason was Boromir so melancholy?" Anomen asked. "I could understand why Denethor despaired, but Boromir recaptured the city of Osgiliath. Did he not have cause to be happy?"

"During the battle for Osgiliath, Boromir was gravely wounded," Elrond explained patiently. "The blade was poisoned, and Boromir never fully recovered. Until the end of his days—which were shorter than those of his forefathers—he was ever in pain. Small wonder, then, that he was grim-faced and stern."

"But Boromir's son Cirion has escaped his ill-fortune."

"Yes," agreed Elrond. "Through his alliance with the Rohirrim, he has strengthened Gondor. That he would send his son Hallas on a trade-mission to our land is a sign that he believes that the enemy is in check—for the time being, at least. Else he would not have hazarded his son on the journey."

"Ada, will the peace last?"

"Last? Nothing in Middle-earth lasts. The history of Arda is like a circular song, a phrase from one verse serving as the first line of the next. Kingdoms fall, rise, and fall again."

Anomen grew thoughtful. He had heard men of Gondor singing cheerful songs, true, but one evening, in the garden, he had overheard a lone man singing mournful verses. He recalled them now.

Where now are the spring blossoms?  
Maidens have claimed them every one.  
When will Man learn wisdom?

Where now are the maidens?  
Young men have claimed them every one.  
When will Man learn wisdom?

Where now are the young men?  
War chiefs have claimed them every one.  
When will Man learn wisdom?

Where now are the warriors?  
Barrows have claimed them every one.  
When will Man learn wisdom?

Where now are the barrows?  
Spring blossoms have claimed them every one.  
When will Man learn wisdom?

Anomen shivered as he remembered how, as he reached the end of the last verse, the hidden singer had begun anew. Kingdoms fall, rise, and fall again.

"You are cold, ion-nín?" Elrond said, interrupting Anomen's thoughts. As an elfling, Anomen was susceptible to the elements in a way that a grown elf would not be. He shook his head. "I am not cold, Ada—only thoughtful."

"And thoughtfulness makes you shiver?" Elrond said gravely.

"Thoughtfulness makes me—melancholy."

"Thoughtfulness may make one melancholy—but it may also make one wise," Elrond returned. "Thoughtfulness may move one to anticipate and so ameliorate the evil to come, or thoughtfulness may make one fearful of the future and so paralyze the will. Cirion has demonstrated the wisdom that may arise from thoughtfulness; I pray that none of his descendants instead fall prey to the paralyzing melancholy that leads to despair."

Anomen thought again of Hallas. He had looked into the man's green eyes and had seen no shadow. But Hallas had not yet been tried. When he was put to the test, would a hidden flaw arise to the surface?

"I think," said Elrond, reading Anomen's mind, "that Hallas is neither Denethor nor Boromir. The faults of the fathers are not always visited upon the sons." Upon Anomen's looking doubtful, Elrond added, "It is not only I who believes that to be true. Think you: why would our friend Mithrandir seek for Isildur's heir if he had reason to suspect that Isildur's error would be repeated by his descendant?"

"Isildur's heir?" said Anomen, puzzled.

"Ah, I had forgotten that we have not spoken of this. Never mind, for the present." Elrond again suddenly changed the subject. "Is it not time for you to present yourself on the training field?"

"Yes, Ada."

"Then fetch your weapons and be off. If you are late, Glorfindel will skin you!"

Anomen and his foster-father smiled at each other. It was an old joke that the balrog slayer would 'skin' Anomen for his antic misdeeds. The elfling had long ago learned not to be frightened by Glorfindel's pretended threats.

Anomen hurried to the armory. As he neared it, he saw a man, clutching a bundle, sidle from the doorway. The man paused, glanced cautiously to either side, and then darted toward a nearby copse.

Anomen hesitated. It was true that Glorfindel would not skin him if he came late to the training field, but the balrog slayer _**would**_ rebuke him, and if the young elf were very late he would be set to polishing shields. On the other hand, the man likely was up to no good. Anomen did not recognize him as one of the Gondorians, but men from other lands, hangers-on, had attached themselves to the trade delegation. This was one of them, seemingly, and Anomen knew the stranger had no business in the armory.

The young elf continued to hesitate. 'Perhaps I should run back to the Hall to seek help', he said to himself. After a moment he shook his head. Any delay would give the man a substantial head start. Of course, that was poor thinking on Anomen's part. Glorfindel's scouts could move more swiftly than any blundering human, and any lead that the man might have enjoyed would not have lasted long. 'When will elflings learn wisdom?' would have been a suitable refrain, had any bard been moved to compose a song about Anomen's reflections and their aftermath.

Convincing himself that he was doing the right thing, Anomen ran to the grove and picked up the man's trail. It was easy to follow, and before too long the elfling was peering from a thicket at the man, who had stopped to gloat over the weapons that he had looted from the armory. Anomen realized that the man, in his arrogance, would not flee far that day, and he was about to creep away to summon help when the man unwrapped and held up something that caused Anomen to cry out in indignation. It was an heirloom: the sword that Glorfindel had carried into battle against the balrog.

At Anomen's cry, the man leaped toward the elfling's hiding place. Anomen turned to run, but his cloak caught on a branch. Within seconds the man stood above him and raised Glorfindel's sword above his head. Before the thief could bring down the sword, however, Anomen heard a 'thwock' and a 'swoosh'. The robber looked down in surprise at the feather that protruded from his chest, and then, without a word, his knees buckled and he fell dead at Anomen's feet.

Trembling, Anomen struggled to free his cloak from the branch. "Let me help you with that," uttered a voice in the Common Speech. Still trembling, Anomen looked up into the face of Hallas.

"Do not fear, young one," the man said reassuringly. "I am not that man."

Anomen's throat was dry, but he found it within himself to speak. "I know you are not that man. You smile and sing and tell stories. You are an honorable man."

Hallas looked at him with some amusement. "So that is the definition of an honorable man—one who smiles and sings and tells stories?"

Anomen colored a little but then recovered. "I do not see how a man who relishes bringing joy to others could be anything other than an honorable man."

Hallas nodded. "You are wise, Anomen—for that is your name is it not? You are Elrond's fosterling, true?"

"Yes, I am Anomen, Elrond's foster-son, but I am _**not**_ wise. Had I been wise, I would not have followed the thief but would have gone for help."

"It is the nature of the young to be impulsive," the man said kindly. "Nevertheless, you are wise according to your years."

By now Anomen's cloak had been untangled. Hallas put his hand on his shoulder. "Come," he said. "We had best return to the Hall."

"Glorfindel's sword," Anomen objected.

"We will carry that with us. The rest can be retrieved by your kinsmen. I will lead them back to this place."

The thief still clutched the sword tightly, and Anomen shuddered a little as Hallas pried it from the dead man's fingers. Hallas wrapped the sword reverently and proffered it to Anomen, who, after a moment's hesitation, accepted the bundle. Side by side, the man and young elf walked back to the Hall. As they arrived, Elrond was just setting out to look for Anomen, for Glorfindel had sent a messenger to report that the lad had never arrived at the training field. Quickly Hallas explained what had happened. Elrond bade several elves accompany Hallas back to the woods, both to gather the stolen goods and to see to the body. Anomen he took by the hand and led to a bathing chamber. "Wash yourself and put on your night dress," he said gently. "I will have the Cook send some food to your chamber."

Gratefully, Anomen sank into the hot water. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the edge of the tub. He heard a door open. "Elladan and Elrohir," he murmured without opening his eyes. Wordlessly, the twins sat beside the tub. Elladan offered Anomen a wash clout, and Elrohir a dish of soap. Anomen accepted both with his eyes still closed. Only when the water began to cool did he open his eyes. The twins had brought him a night shirt and a cloak and soft shoes such as the elves wore for slippers. Soon Anomen was dry and warm, and together with his foster-brothers he went to the chamber that they shared. All three elflings crawled into one bed, with Anomen snuggled in the middle between Elladan and Elrohir. There they lay quietly, not speaking, breathing softly in tandem, until the Head Cook with his own hands brought in a tray with three bowls of porridge sweetened with the white sugar that was reserved for feast day delicacies. As they were finishing this light supper, Elrond entered the room. He raised his eyebrows at seeing them spooning their porridge all huddled together on one bed like a pack of puppies. They had not clung together in such a fashion for several years. However, the elf lord let it pass without comment. He bestowed a kiss on each forehead and bade them sleep well.

The next day Glorfindel gave the elflings a half-holiday. Anomen had been very quiet during weapons training, and Elrohir and Elladan instinctively understood that he now needed solitude rather than the comfort of his peers. The two went to the stable to curry their horses, avoiding the garden, where they knew Anomen would retreat to think over the events of the last twenty-four hours.

In the garden, Anomen lay on his back at the base of the statue of Gil-galad and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. Suddenly a white horse galloped across it. Anomen sat up and eagerly looked about the garden. He was not disappointed, for Gandalf stepped out from behind a bush, pipe in mouth. The wizard removed the pipe and blew out a puff of smoke, which formed itself into a second horse that galloped after the first. "I hear you have been having adventures without me," observed the wizard as he strolled over to take a seat upon a nearby bench.

Anomen arose from the grass and went to sit by his mentor. "It wasn't an adventure," the young elf said somberly. "I was nearly slain."

"The fact that you were nearly slain does not mean it wasn't an adventure," replied Gandalf. "Indeed," the wizard added wryly, "I have often found that the two go hand in hand. You are feeling melancholy, I see," he continued.

"Yes, I am," Anomen agreed. "Is that a bad thing? Does it make me more like a human and less like an elf?"

"I have not heard it said that elves are meant to be free of melancholy. Like humans, they can suffer loss; like humans, they can grieve for their losses."

"Will I feel less melancholy as the years pass by?"

"No," Gandalf said flatly.

Anomen looked at him in astonishment. This was not the answer he had hoped for and expected.

"Perhaps I should have spoken less bluntly," Gandalf said ruefully when he saw how shocked his young friend was. "One who feels deeply must of necessity feel melancholy. As I hope that you will continue to feel deep affection for your friends and for Arda itself, I would expect you to continue to feel melancholy when you and they suffer loss and feel pain—as will be the case, for we live in an imperfect world. If you did not feel such melancholy, I would know you hardened, and I would grieve for the loss of your soul."

This put a new light on melancholy. "It is as much to say that melancholy is a necessary accompaniment of other, more pleasant feelings," Anomen said thoughtfully.

"Indeed. And I should feel concerned at a person who did not feel melancholy—or who counterfeited not to feel melancholy. Of course," the wizard added, "it is possible to be disproportionately melancholy, as well as to succumb to the emotion without any cause at all. But I do not think this is what has happened in your case. A man tried to kill you yesterday—sufficient reason for thoughtfulness tinged with sorrow."

"So it is good to be capable of melancholy."

"Indeed," agreed Gandalf. "One might even say that melancholy is a form of wisdom. Folk who feel melancholy understand loss and do not cause others to suffer unnecessarily."

From a corner of the garden the lone voice that Anomen had heard several nights before began to sing anew.

Where now are the spring blossoms?  
Maidens have claimed them every one.  
When will Man learn wisdom?

Anomen had a sudden impulse. He arose from the bench. "If you will pardon me," he said to Gandalf. The wizard smiled. "Off on another quest, my lad?"

"Not such a dangerous one this time," Anomen smiled back.

"All quests are dangerous on some level," Gandalf retorted. He was still smiling, but in his eyes Anomen caught a glimpse of—melancholy. Suddenly serious himself, he turned and slipped away, quietly making for the source of the song. He found the singer sitting on a bench in a recess in the garden wall. It was Hallas. He looked thoughtful but not sorrowful. As he came to the last verse of his song, he did not return to the first verse. Instead, he stretched out his fingers to stroke the soft buds of a sapling peach tree. "Your life is brief," the man said aloud, "for you give way to a flower, whose life is likewise brief, for it gives way to a fruit, from whose pit arises a new tree." Hallas smiled. "Who would sorrow at the brevity of a flower bud, its fruit being so precious," he murmured. Still smiling, the man arose and left the garden.

Behind him, Anomen remained for a time contemplating the peach tree. 'Who would sorrow at the brevity of a flower bud, its fruit being so precious', he repeated to himself. 'There is much about Men that I do not understand', the young elf thought. 'Some are wicked, like the thief who would have slain me. But Hallas—Hallas is kind and thoughtful and bold and serious and merry. He has all these qualities—and more. For he perseveres in behaving honorably even though he knows he is fated to die. Indeed, I rather think he perseveres in behaving honorably _**because**_ he knows he is fated to die. I wonder if I should be so brave!'

Slowly Anomen walked back toward the Hall. As he passed the kitchen, the Head Cook spied him from the window. "Come to steal biscuits, Master Anomen?" he called. "Well, I won't give you the satisfaction. Here! You just take this biscuit and then there won't be no opportunity for you to purloin one and brag about it. Hah!"

Obediently, Anomen went to the window and accepted a biscuit from the Cook's hand. He regarded it gravely. "Master Cook," he said earnestly, "I shall cherish every biscuit you give me. They don't last long, but they are very precious to me."

The Cook looked at him in surprise, but Anomen promptly broke the spell by cramming the biscuit in his mouth. He was really very hungry, for he had remained in the garden past the noon meal. The Cook snorted. "No marvel that they don't last long when you devour them like that! Here. Try to do justice to this biscuit by not bolting it!"

His grin outlined by the crumbs of the first biscuit, Anomen accepted the second one and strolled away. Nibbling at the treat, he put aside for a time all meditations on the subject of melancholy.

_"Legolas, do you think it was Boromir's destiny to succumb to the Ring?"_

_Legolas did not answer immediately. He studied a blossom on the White Tree, a scion of Nimloth that Aragorn, guided by Gandalf, had lately discovered on the slope of Mindolluin and replanted in place of the Dead Tree that had silently kept vigil in Minas Tirith since the time of Thorondir. When the elf did answer, it was with a question._

"_When men speak of destiny, Aragorn, ofttimes they express the belief that a man's footsteps follow a path laid down for him by his forefathers. Is that what you mean by your query?"_

"_Boromir was the son of Denethor, Legolas, so may I not fairly ask that question?"_

"_Faramir was also the son of Denethor," Legolas retorted, "and Faramir did not take the Ring when he had the opportunity. And you—you are the descendant of Isildur. You could have taken the Ring from Frodo at any time, from the moment you encountered him at Bree to the day at Amon Hen when the Fellowship was broken. No, you are more like Hallas than Isildur—and you are not even related to him by blood!"_

"_Hallas?" Aragorn wrinkled his brow. Erestor had required him to memorize the genealogy of both the Northern and the Southern Kingdoms. Apparently the tutor has not been so exacting when it came to the genealogy of the Ruling Stewards of Gondor._

"_Hallas," intoned Legolas, adopting his best impression of Erestor, "was the grandson of Boromir—and he was not the grandson of Boromir."_

_Aragorn stared at him for a few moments in bewilderment. "Ah," he exclaimed suddenly. "You riddle. Boromir was preceded, long ago, by another Boromir, who himself was the son of a Denethor. This Hallas you speak of must have been the grandson of that earlier Boromir, and the great-grandson of Denethor the First."_

"_Excellent, my lad," said Legolas, still imitating Erestor. "And for your perspicacity, you will be excused from copying the genealogies a hundredfold."_

"_I will cuff your pointed ears if you do not evince greater deference toward the King of Gondor," retorted Aragorn, but he was smiling, which ruined the effect. Legolas laughed. "I am hungry," he exclaimed, giving the White Tree one final pat. "Let us go to the kitchen and see what is lying about for the taking."_

"_You are not welcome in the kitchen just now," warned Aragorn. "The Head Cook saw you in its vicinity just before he discovered that a plate of biscuits was missing."_

"_**I**__ didn't take that plate. If you must know, Merry and Pippin are the malefactors."_

"_So you have outgrown—," began Aragorn._

"_**I**__ merely served as lookout," concluded Legolas._

_Aragorn groaned. "Will you never be grown?"_

"_Of course not," Legolas said merrily. "I am an elf!"_

_Laughing, the two friends strode toward the kitchen. And in Minas Tirith that day, melancholy yielded to mirth. _


	21. Chapter 21: Recognition

_**Ne'ith5**_** and **_**CAH**_**, in their reviews of Episode 20, pointed out that I do not show Glorfindel's reaction to the return of his sword. Hence this epilogue to that chapter. **

**I would also like to thank **_**Caspian Casp Kaist, leralonde, **_**and**_** KsandraMallan**_ **for their reviews of Episode 20.**

**Episode 21: Recognition**

"Anomen," said Elrond, gesturing to an ornate scabbard on the table in his study. "Please take that weapon to the armory."

"Yes, Ada," Anomen said, picking up the scabbard and looking at it curiously. The tooling was not elven. Elrond smiled at his curiosity.

"It is a gift from Cirion, presented to me by his son Hallas," he explained. "You may look at the blade if you wish."

Anomen drew the sword from its scabbard and hefted it. "It is well balanced," he said appreciatively.

"Your judgment coincides with Glorfindel's," Elrond observed. Anomen tried to look nonchalant, but Elrond could see that the lad was pleased. The elf-lord laughed. "According to Glorfindel," he told the young elf, "the worst that can be said of your swordsmanship is that it is exceeded by your skill as an archer—but as you are the best archer of your age group, that is praise indeed!"

Now Anomen smiled. Resheathing the sword, he bowed and hurried from the room. As he came around the corner of the stable, he saw that Glorfindel, too, was on the path leading toward the armory. Suddenly self-conscious, the young elf slowed his pace. Glorfindel reached the building and vanished within. Anomen reached the door of the armory and hesitated. At last he took a deep breath and slipped inside. He intended to quietly place the sword and sheath on a table and then slip away.

Peeking around a corner, Anomen saw Glorfindel sitting on a bench, head down, with a sword lying on his lap. His back was to Anomen, but the elfling caught a glance of the weapon's hilt. It was the sword that Anomen had rescued from the thief.

"You needn't hide, Anomen," Glorfindel said abruptly.

Slowly Anomen came to stand before the balrog slayer. He looked at the older elf with something akin to reverence. Glorfindel smiled at the expression of awe on the elfling's face.

"You are wondering how I knew you were there, for it was true that you made no noise. You are quiet even for an elf!"

Anomen nodded.

Glorfindel smiled again and pointed at a cuirass leaning against the wall. An ornamental piece, it was made of silver. "Do you recognize that piece of armor?"

Anomen grimaced. He had polished it two days earlier as penalty for some transgression on the training field. Under Glorfindel's exacting eye, the young elf had done an excellent job, and the cuirass gleamed, reflecting—

"Oh," said Anomen sheepishly. "You saw my reflection in the cuirass."

Glorfindel laughed. "You are still permitted to worship me," he teased, "even though I have given away one of my secrets. Do not share it!"

No longer shy, Anomen grinned. "You want your foes to continue to believe that you have eyes on the back of your head."

"Aye, my foes, and the novice warriors, too."

Then the balrog slayer grew pensive again. He lifted the sword from his lap. "Thank you for returning this sword, Anomen," he said softly.

Glorfindel had never spoken to Anomen of one particular battle in which the sword had been wielded—the clash that had ended with the death of both vanquished and victor.

"What was it like?" Anomen said suddenly. "That time you were lost to Arda?"

At first Anomen did not think that Glorfindel would answer, for the balrog slayer remained silent for a long time.

"Like?" he said at last. "At first it must have been like nothing. I am told a long time passed before I returned to Middle-earth, but I have no memories that could account for the passage of that time in its entirety. "I fell," he began. He paused. "I fell," he said again, speaking slowly. "I felt as if I were plummeting through both fire and water, as if who I was—_**what**_ I was—was being both washed and burned away. I felt as if no part of me could remain after such an ordeal."

He paused again. "Then there must have been a time of nothingness. I don't know where I was. I don't know _**if**_ I was. Darkness took me, and I must have been lost beyond the realms of thought and time."

Glorfindel again lapsed into silence. In the distance a bell rang to summon folk to the noon meal. The balrog slayer looked up. "Bells," he said. "I awoke to a light sound, a merry sound, the tintinnabulation of many bells. Beside me lay my sword. I looked up and saw that the stars wheeled overhead. I knew myself to be in Arda. Then I heard the bells again, and I knew them to be such bells as elves attach to their horses when there is no need for secrecy. I arose and followed the sound until before me passed a procession of elves, at their head Elrond. I hailed him as Eärendil, for so he appeared to me."

"'I am not Eärendil', he replied, "but Eärendil was my father'."

"'Was?' I exclaimed. 'Has he perished?' In reply, Elrond pointed to the sky, to the Star of Eärendil the Mariner."

"I was perplexed, for I knew nothing of what had passed in my absence. The other elves were perplexed as well, for I was clad in the clothing in which I had perished centuries earlier. The heralds among them were at a loss, for they did not recognize my badges. Only our friend Erestor the Learnéd could make them out."

This last was uttered with a wry expression, and suddenly Glorfindel chuckled. "That was my first ever meeting with Erestor," he smiled. "This inestimable Erestor informed his incredulous comrades that I was from Gondolin. Lindir was amongst the company. 'That is not possible', Lindir cried. 'Gondolin fell long ago. Alas! Many were lost in its destruction'.

"'True', I said sadly. 'I myself did not escape. By this hand was slain a balrog, but with that exploit I perished."

"'A balrog was indeed slain that day', said Lindir, 'but how can you be the one to have accomplished the deed if the warrior who felled the balrog was himself felled? Here you stand before us, but the balrog slayer was Glorfindel, laid to rest with his weapons under a cairn erected in his honor by Tuor and Idril. It is said that the cairn still stands that marks the scene of the balrog slayer's victory and death'."

"Now Erestor spoke again. 'The cairn may still stand, Lindir', he said, 'but if you were to lift aside the stones, I do not think you will find Glorfindel's sword. Look at this warrior's weapon!'"

Glorfindel held aloft his sword, and Anomen gazed upon the letters engraved upon the blade. "Aegnor i Rúsëa, hyanda alcarinqua ar taura," Anomen read aloud. "Fell-fire the Wrathful, blade glorious and mighty," he translated.

Glorfindel nodded approvingly. "Your pronunciation of Quenya is excellent, and your translation accurate. Erestor's pronunciation and translation were likewise excellent and accurate. It seems he had done a study of legendary swords and had written a massive tome in which he had recorded all that he could glean on the subject. And so it was that I was recognized and acknowledged to be Glorfindel the Twice-born, balrog slayer."

Anomen nodded. "I have seen that manuscript," he said. "It sits on the shelf nearest Erestor's desk."

"Did you know that an entire quire was devoted to Fell-fire the Wrathful?"

"That seems a lot of paper to devote to one sword," Anomen said doubtfully.

"Aegnor has a long history," Glorfindel replied mildly. "Perhaps someday you should borrow the manuscript from Erestor. In your spare time, when you are not training," he added.

"When would that be?" Anomen asked mischievously. In the distance a bell was again heard. Glorfindel arose and placed the sword in its wrappings. "Certainly not now," he answered. "If we do not heed the second ringing of the bell, your brothers will not leave you anything to eat. Then you shall be forced to steal biscuits from the kitchen—a fearsome prospect, that."

Glorfindel laid a friendly hand on Anomen's shoulder, and he left his hand there until they reached the dining hall, when the balrog slayer removed it so that he could make an entrance that would be suitably stately. But once the elf-lord had taken his seat beside Elrond, he sent a wink Anomen's way. Anomen was pleased at the gesture. He was even more pleased, though, that Glorfindel the Twice-born, balrog slayer, had trusted him with his story. This was a gift that Anomen would never cease to cherish.


End file.
